Foiled
by prancingtrash
Summary: In a world of equal parts destruction and peace, former S.H.I.E.L.D. Deputy Director Bellamy Burke tries to find the latter in herself, and in the man that took it from her. Bucky x OC
1. Exposed

_**PART I**_

Her coffee was cold again, just like her every lead. With a sigh of frustration, she tossed the papers from the file onto her desk, not liking the now untidy appearance. Sighing once more, she began to tidy the file's contents, now able to hear the background chatter of the nightly news on the television.

"Here tonight with us, we have a specialist to help analyze the notorious Black Widow's appearance on Capitol Hill, this of course occurring due to the recent and major leak of highly confidential S.H.I.E.L.D. files as well as the fall of the private agency itself—" She muted the channel and looked back to her still messy desk.

Everything was still just a mess.

It had almost been a full week since she'd been out of her apartment. Of course, with everything that had happened—the extinction of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the leaks of information that went viral the second Natasha had uploaded it to the net—her name was famous for the first time. Her existence was revealed and her cocoon of safety had unraveled, leaving her without a shield of protection. No longer was she behind the curtain, everything was known and being subjected to discussion. The young Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., a woman of secret and several impressive qualifications. Everything was out in the open. Bellamy hated it just as much as Natasha, but she didn't blame the spy for her actions. It was just, now, she was left with nothing.

"You know, the offer is still on the table." Natasha had told her as the two had cleared the last of the files from the remaining S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters in the last New York location. It was the only word of discussion shared between the two women so far, and Bellamy didn't need to ask what offer she was referring to, but still had to suppress the urge of sending the spy a very pointed look.

"You know what my answer is."

"I was hoping it would have changed." Natasha raised a hopeful eyebrow as she glanced at her. Bellamy stared at her evenly. "Even Maria Hill gave in and took an interview with Stark Industries; if you don't take my offer I'm sure Tony'll just move her into that spot."

"Yes, Maria Hill would need to give in, considering her predicament. Despite my history being aired to the general public, I don't exactly have any reason to go into hiding. I don't have any regrets in terms of my service and personal actions." Natasha could've taken it as a personal jab, maybe she did, but her expression didn't explicitly change—it never did, and neither did Bellamy's, perhaps the reason for their often times uncomfortable discussions.

"We don't know each other extremely well, but I always assumed you wanted to be everything but a public figure. That you would be on the same side of justice. Safety." Natasha's eyes prodded her as she gave her a small pursed lip half-smile. "It's what I want, at least. We've both been left with nothing."

"They do say it's wrong to assume." She murmured, albeit a bit uncomfortable when confronted with the fact of the situation. Natasha and Steve were protected under the blanket of being an Avenger. If she were to accept and join, she would be too, but as tempting as it was, she knew it would be like buying shoes in the wrong size. Maybe now she understood them just a little bit better, but she wasn't sure if she agreed with the means of achieving their ultimate shared goals. "I'm always on the side of justice."

Natasha _hmmed_ underneath her breath. "So, you'll be joining Fury." Bellamy gave her a forced smile.

"So, you go ahead and assume anyway." For a moment they stood facing each other, waiting for the other to react. Several level one agents stopped and glanced their way in passing; it must have appeared as though they were having some kind of stand-off. "You and I both know we have to lay low right now, agent. Whether I'm with Fury, or not, it's better that no one knows." Natasha smirked at her.

"I think you answered my question anyways." Bellamy stared after the redhead as she padded away, carrying three file boxes with ease.

"Agent Romanoff," She called, and Natasha stopped, turning back already wearing a knowing half-smirk. Bellamy wore a face of no expression as she spoke, "you're dismissed; I can clear the rest of the files here." Her half-smirk disappeared, and Bellamy turned away.

Back where all the physical files were, she dismissed the few former level 1 agents and made sure they had left before she headed where she knew the B's were kept. Where "Burke" was supposed to be, she only found her brother's name, along with her mother's. Her own file, and her father's—her intended loot—were missing. She frowned to herself and double checked the box before sighing. After-all, what could she do now?

She stood wondering, rhetorically, of course, before an answer actually struck her. Pierce and his cutting words, him telling her how her family was cursed from the Winter Soldier. Quickly, she went to the box above, categorized to hold files starting with Ba-Bl, looking and finding the file marked as "Barnes, James B.".

Natasha wasn't the only one throwing persuasion tactics her way, but it was harder to turn down the man that fought so hard to protect her.

"You got through to him?" Steve repeated, always seeming to loop back to the same point of conversation with her. As soon as he was able to leave the hospital he'd requested they meet at the grimy Ideal Federal Savings Banks, the facility where HYDRA had kept her and the Winter Soldier hostage. With him, he had Sam Wilson, who stood next to Bellamy with his arms crossed, eyes disgusted no matter where they landed in the room.

Everything was still the same in the building, except for the abandonment of the terrorist organization that had once occupied it. Steve was walking in circles in the area, looking at every corner with his sharp eyes. She kept her eyes firmly on him; she'd seen enough of the dingy room and didn't want any reminder of her time spent here.

"Considering the events that unfolded, I would say all evidence points tentatively to a yes."

"What did you say to him?" She sighed lightly at his question. He finally looked at her, and frowned a bit apologetically. "I'm sorry, Burke. I know this must be hard for you. I've heard it before, but this is important—I've got to get it right. If you did manage to get through to him that means you're key in maybe helping me bring him back and make him remember what HYDRA made him forget." Steve was so optimistic, she and Sam both knew it with their brief shared glance, but she humored him anyways.

"I gave him a brief rundown of his life. Basic information, name, birth, hometown. I told him about you. I told him about me. About the world…he didn't say much. I don't know how much of it stuck." Steve said nothing, only looked around the room once more with a dark glower.

"He's still in there." He murmured determinedly. Sam shifted his weight, uncomfortable beside her, shadows of doubt on his face. Bellamy shrugged her shoulders lightly as Steve turned to her.

"You don't know how deep he's buried." It didn't seem to matter to Steve.

"I don't suppose I'll be able to change your mind either." He continued, looking at her hopefully, despite the way his statement confirmed what they both already knew.

"I see you've talked with Agent Romanoff. Did you play rock, paper, scissors to see who would talk first?"

"You're not exactly agents, anymore, Burke." She crossed her arms and avoided his gaze, hating that it was almost impossible to avoid the facts, whether they were presented from herself or the others.

"Thank you, Captain. It's always good to be reminded of my sudden unemployment." She muttered wryly.

"Sorry." He hardly seemed bother with her sarcasm, perhaps he was used to it at this point. No, she could tell from his eyes he just didn't have the capacity to care about trivial things; his mind was in mission mode and this was perhaps one of his most important to date.

"Unemployed agent or not, we could use another person to get this done." Sam spoke up. "One person alone isn't going to find him. Maybe with you we can be more efficient." She pursed her lips, knowing that Sam was only trying for Steve's sake. Still, she said nothing, and Steve must've taken her silence for something else.

"I know what I'm asking." He began, taking a breath as though he could feel his own words' weight. "I know…the last thing you'd want to do right now is look for a murderer." He locked eyes with her sincerely. "But I know you also know…that he isn't guilty for his crimes." She still said nothing, and he looked down. "Or…maybe you think he is. Either way, I'm going after him. I need to. I won't be able to rest until I find him. Knowing he's out there right now, lost…" Steve shook his head, his eyes breaking painfully before settling on hers, as if he needed something to focus on. And focus they did; his blue eyes cleared and hardened. For the first time, she looked to the room instead of at him. He spoke up quickly, seemingly sensing her discomfort. "Of course, I'd understand if you didn't want anything more to do with this line of work. In fact, if you could find more happiness walking away, well…I'd envy you." He gave her a soft reassuring smile.

She nearly broke, she nearly agreed, she nearly laughed at the thought of her walking away and wondered if Steve had learned anything about her at all. "I just need some time, Steve. Maybe in the future—"

"Say no more." He told her and gave her a nod in agreement. "I just thought it was worth a shot." Though he remained composed, a sigh still escaped his lips and his furrowed eyebrows betrayed his disappointment. "Maybe in the future, then…can I ask one more thing?" She nodded her head silently as Steve's eyes scanned the room once more. "If you find anything, hear anything, see anything…will you call me?"

Bellamy could've told him at that very second underneath a wooden floorboard in her kitchen underneath her dining table sat a thick Soviet file entitled Зимний солдат, so thick it would likely take her days, weeks, to read, comprehend, and engrave in her head. She could've told him that said file had been retrieved from the very room they currently stood, that she had also found and retrieved SHIELD's last known file on Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes just days prior after cleaning out the headquarters. But she gave him a small smile instead.

"Of course, Steve."

She wasn't sure if it was harder for herself or Steve, looking for a person or a piece of information from the past. Ever since she'd gotten her hands on The Winder's Soldier's file, she'd spent her time reading, _trying_ to understand…and more importantly, searching. It never went into mission details, those were brief, but details of his life? A story of pity; she felt an odd rage and seeing the wrongdoing done upon him, a rage so strong she often had to remind herself fiercely this was still the man who had assassinated her brother, remind herself of what she was searching for.

She didn't expect Fury to come to her, with a request of his own nonetheless, and he was perhaps the hardest to turn down. Fury, the man who reminded her so much of her father, albeit rougher around the edges and with one less eye. It was almost encoded in her veins at this point to never let this man down.

"Do you know what life has in store for you next, agent?" He asked her as he sat in her apartment. He was the only other person in her life who knew where she lived, nobody else at S.H.I.E.L.D. knew. That secret, thankfully, had remained a secret.

"Is that what I am still?" She had hesitated before she asked. A serious question, a real question she couldn't answer. If she wasn't, what else could she be? There was nothing else she could ever see herself being, but an agent.

Fury stared at her calmly, waiting, before he answered. "Once an agent, always an agent. More importantly, Bellamy, I consider you an ally. One of my most trusted, at that. A friend." His voice was so heavy with meaning it almost made her uneasy, remembering how he'd faked his own death and yet told her nothing of it. It took her a moment to remember they were in the comfort of her living space. She took in the familiar features of her living space, eyes resting on an old clicking clock. _Tick, tick_. It calmed her breathing.

"That must be why you came."

"Oh, you already know?" He cracked a grin, leaning forward in her old grandmother's armchair. She returned a small smile. "Well, indeed, I come to you asking a favor…as a friend. As agents." He stood. "I want you to come to Europe with me. Not every HYDRA base was knocked down. Intelligence tells us there are more than we thought, and they're all well-hidden. And I know, it's personal for you." She swallowed.

"Friends, as far as I know, tell each other the truth." She stood and turned to face him squarely. "Do you know I still, to this day, don't know the details of my father's death?" He stared at her evenly. "If I hadn't been with Bronson the day of his death, would I have known the details about that?"

"And those details haunt you to this day. You know, normal people take the elevator rather than the stairs every day." She narrowed her eyes.

"Are you suggesting I can't handle it? You couldn't tell me the Winter Solider killed him too? You couldn't even tell me that, but Alexander Pierce could while I was locked in a cell?" She stopped herself as she raised her voice, feeling her lips quiver before avoiding his gaze, shamed that she proved him right.

"Sometimes, you don't need to know the details." He told her with stern gentleness. "They keep you from healing. It's better to focus on the bare essentials, such as it being HYDRA's doing. Come to Europe with me, Bellamy."

"But you know the truth." She whispered. She took his silence as an answer and smirked angrily. "Can you at least, please, be honest with me about one thing, or are you incapable of that?" He didn't answer, and she paused, before she went on. "Do you regret making me your Deputy?" Her voice was soft in hesitance, and a small trickle of fret filled her chest as she looked to him and waited, desperately, for his response.

"Regretting anything is pointless, Bellamy."

"Can't you just give me a goddamn straight answer for once?" He gave her a small smile.

"Diplomacy is high on the required skill set for this occupation." They stood staring at each other silently.

"I'm afraid I'm no longer employed, therefore skills such as diplomacy are no longer needed; the answer is no, Nick. I'm not going with you." He frowned directly for the first time.

"What will you do?" She gave him a sardonic smile as she walked to her door and opened it for him, standing beside it.

"I'll figure it out."


	2. Haunted

Bellamy figured it out—a plan, at least. A week turned into two, and still, she was searching with no luck. There was nothing left to read, only words and pictures of the Winter Soldier to stare at. Files and words couldn't give her what she needed, therefore, she needed to go to the source. But that hunt would prove to be even harder.

She drove back to Washington D.C., deciding to start there. No better term could describe the Winter Soldier than a ghost, as he was known throughout the intelligence community; every time anyone ever tried to find the Winter Solider, the trail ran cold. He disappeared into oblivion, causing the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. over 50 years of mental manipulation, of doubt of his existence with the deception he played. Except, she wasn't looking for the Winter Solider, she was fairly certain of that. He was set free from the hands of his oppressor. HYDRA was no longer in control of him. No, her mission was to find James Buchanan Barnes before anyone else did.

How does one find and follow the trail of a ghost? It was a misconception of the public who were informed of Barnes—only knowing him as the deranged, unstable, and highly dangerous Winter Soldier who had nearly taken out Captain America—that he only wandered about at night, creeping in the shadows like a fabled boogieman. None of them knew most would encounter him in their everyday life at some point and never even realize it. She did.

She had gotten close to him a total of three times. Once, in Chinatown, a place that never grew weary and therefore stayed populated and busy. Hiding in plain-sight seemed to be his specialty, and she saw him in a trucker cap with a jacket and a backpack, browsing a newspaper stand on an intense search. As she made her way towards him, he looked up once, a brief second, and they locked eyes. A taxi passed, and she began running, but he was gone in less than five seconds, newspaper abandoned on the ground with the headline SEARCH FOR WINTER SOLDIER CONTINUES.

The second time told her it wasn't just a one way trace. She'd been up all night, and was staring out the windowed doors that led to the balcony in the hotel room she was staying, when movement had caught her eye. Maybe this second time hadn't really happened; she'd pulled a gun and bolted to the ground, hiding and moving between the bed to the wall to look out the door, but suddenly the shadowy figure she'd sworn she'd seen earlier from the building across from hers was gone. Never would she know if she was too sleep-deprived for her own good, or if it was just another working of the ghost, but she almost didn't want the latter to be true; being haunted seemed a better position than hunted.

The third was most definitely real, and occurred at the Smithsonian. His eyes were glued to the small display dedicated to him, describing his death and his loyalty to his country, along with best friend, Captain Steve Rogers. He wore the same clothes as before, his metal shoved in his pocket. No one gave him a second look.

Bellamy stood, a few feet away, trying to figure out if he remembered any of his past, if he even remembered that he was the man in the display and not some solider to HYDRA. Standing for too long, too long to escape his gaze as he suddenly turned, paranoia in his eyes, and rightfully so at the sight of her—his own ghost.

She hissed in frustration as he ran, unable to call out to him and risk attention from the crowd. They gave her dirty looks as she pushed through children and adults alike there to see and learn more about Captain America. When she finally broke free of the crowd, she had lost him. Always, she always lost him.

Bellamy worried he was planning on fleeing the state, perhaps the country completely, soon. She was running out of opportunity, of places to search, but she had two reasons to go back to the sickening bank: checking for any clues or maybe finding him there.

As soon as she walked back in, her eyes went to one of the areas enclosed with bars, like that of a jail cell, where she'd once been stored. After Fury was thought to have been dead, Steve took her on the run with him. Despite her being, technically, the one in the charge, he knew S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised before she did. She had no idea who to trust, besides Steve. But when she was captured, their missions splintered into separate ones; Steve to save the day and her to stay alive.

It was almost impossible to be in there and not hear Bucky's screaming. It was a turning point for her, seeing everything unfold before her eyes. Her brother's murderer, actually turning out to be a victimized weapon, proving he had no choice as they wiped the memories from his head. She remembered her stomach turning as Alexander Pierce stopped before her, wearing a pleasant smirk to the sound of screaming, as though it were a pleasant symphony.

"Ready for your appointment?" He asked her as the bars parted and he stepped inside the area with her. "Director Burke, it's truly a pleasure." He addressed her with a gleeful mocking tone that caused her to glare; she never did like his wit. "Well, you tried." He said as he threw his hands in the air before grinning even wider. "I'm glad you didn't succeed—you know, you could've if you wanted to. Nonetheless, I'm glad you didn't. For more reasons than one."

"Please, enlighten me." She said, wishing she could lengthen the distance between them.

"You know, despite what anyone said about your lack of field work, the position was well-suited for you. Did you know that I recommended you to Nick? That might come as a shock to you. You proved to me we value the same exact things in society; order and peace. Your approval of Project Insight was the last piece I needed to know that you were worthy." It was hard to keep her mouth shut. "I can forgive that you ran with Captain America. Naïve mistake, but you didn't really know, and I just can't let go of the fact that I can see so much potential in you. You alone inspire so much fear from many of the agents, it's incredible, just like how you're looking at me right now—do you even try?" She only blinked at him.

"If looks could kill." Bellamy didn't know or care if he could hear her mumble. If he did, he didn't care.

"Rumlow was telling me you demand every agent address you professionally with respect, and I like that, Director Burke." He slid a slow devilish smirk on his lips, likely reveling in the look of animosity that flashed in her eyes.

"Project Insight isn't what you promised it was."

"Of course not, didn't Nick keep secrets from you too? Why is it only bad when I do it?" He raised his hands as though were having a casual friendly discussion. "See, people like Nick wouldn't understand like you and I do. And over the years, people had to be exterminated so it could continue on smoothly. People like Howard Stark. Scott Burke and his son, Bronson Burke. You know, Rumlow took your brother's place quite well, he's flexible like you." He had the beginning of a smirk on his face again, and she knew that meant she was growing visibly angry. Her teeth bit into the inside of her cheeks, hard, to keep her from speaking. "Wow, you're good. That would've had most people throwing punches, and that's what makes you so dangerous, sweetheart. How much do you hold in? Are you ever gonna give yourself a chance to explode?"

"Go to hell." She spat. He moved back to the bars and it slid open with ease by the guards. He paused there, staring at her, smiling.

"Don't worry, you won't ever need to face those questions. See, there's no possible way for me to know if I can trust you; sparing your life up until this point was more of just me having a hard time letting things go. It's gotta be done, though. Shame, really." He sighed and slid the bars back shut himself, shrugging lightly. "At least it'll be poetic…being buried beside your dead family after being exterminated by their killer."

Her hands were gripping the bars of the cell, this time on the outside of it staring in as she was brought back to the present. Yet, she could still feel the same burning in her chest that she'd felt that day. As her anger subsided, she felt eyes on her back and whirled around, gasping as she found him there. Quickly, she caught her breath, staring back at him. He was dressed the same as he had been the day in the Smithsonian and stared at her with the same stone-faced expression of stillness he'd worn the day he'd been tasked to kill her, the only difference were his eyes, no longer trance-like but now alive, and wary. Her heart thudded and she swallowed, wondering after all this time…had she really been the one chasing him? You don't chase and find a ghost—it finds you.

"Are you here to kill me?" She forced out, feeling her hand on her gun but not pulling it. She couldn't see any visible weapons on the soldier, not that he needed any; he could make a weapon out of anything.

"I was supposed to." He finally spoke, eyes blinking in confusion and his head slightly tilting to the side.

"You didn't." She reminded him. Maybe it wasn't wise to remind him. He straightened his head, eyes hardening as he inspected her. "Why?"

"You weren't my mission anymore."

"You were—"

"Why have you been following me?" He demanded in a very controlled voice, cutting her off, stepping closer.

"Why are you following _me_?" She shot back as she took a step backwards, her back now touching the bars. They stared at each other defiantly, neither budging, before the sound of the main door opening and shutting interrupted them. Immediately, she pulled her gun and they both ran to shelter behind the wall, side by side. He glared at her as the stood silently. Soon, agents dressed in black came in, and she recognized them as a few of the same level 1 agents who had helped her clear the SHIELD headquarters. Relief washed over her, before a visibly important looking man came in behind them. Easily, she recognized him to be a high-ranking leader of HYDRA. Dread took over.

"Everything must be retrieved, nothing left behind! Clear the capacity! Pristine, pristin—" His hand flew to his throat as her first bullet struck his throat, the second hitting him in the heart. The Winter Soldier was already out of hiding, throwing agents left and right while she took out the rest, leaving them in the empty vault littered with bodies. She turned her gaze back to him as he stared at their bodies.

"There's more coming, and we can't take all of them." He finally looked over at her.

"I can."

"No, you can't. Okay, you can't let them capture you again, don't you understand that? I can get us out of here." He stared at her incredulously.

"I don't want your help."

"You need my help."

"No, I need what you have." He said, stepping closer with anger sparking in his eyes. She blinked at him.

"And what do I have?"

"Stop doing that. I've killed far more dangerous people than you." Her breath caught in her throat, not out of fear, but almost out of agreement. "You took my file from here, I want it."

"This vault is the farthest thing from being protected, anyone could have that file."

"I know you have it. I watched you take it." A cold chill ran down her spine, but she readjusted her verbal path quickly.

"And how do you know I still have it?"

"I told you to stop doing that." He said, his voice slightly vibrating, stepping even closer right in front of her. "I want my goddamn file."

"Maybe we can trade." She said, raising her gun. "You took not only my file from S.H.I.E.L.D., but my father's, and I want it." He stared at her with the same narrowed eyes.

"I didn't take it." She snorted, steadying her hands.

"Don't forget I'm the one holding the gun."

"Are you going to shoot me?"

"Are you going to kill me?" He glared at her, which she returned. "Don't tempt me. I have more than one justifiable reason to." As he stared, his forehead began to furrow again, and he near resembled the way he looked in the vault after almost remembering Steve, right before HYDRA took his memory again.

"I don't have them." There was a loud thud from the ground above them, and instantly she ran, no longer caring if he she lost him again after finding him, but she felt metal fingers wrap around her neck and pull her back. She gasped, wondering if she'd gotten herself into a trap, if he was still HYDRA affiliated.

"Let me…go…" She struggled for air, gasping and clawing at the unmovable vice grip around her throat.

"Not until I get my file." She struggled in his grip, gasping as she flailed, trying to hit him in any way, staring feebly at her gun on the ground that was growing spotty. He was holding her hostage, metal arm wrapped underneath her chin and around her neck like a boa constrictor, and she watched, barely—fading in and out—as he shot a disc to the ceiling of the vault before her feet left the ground. There was a blast, but she didn't feel anything, and then there was nothing.

Dim light blanketed her surroundings when her eyes opened again, the first thing in her sight being a display of mannequins in a formation. Bellamy briefly wondered why she was in a department store until she noticed the mural of Captain America and the Howling Commandos behind the display. She was sitting with her back against something and she looked around, noticing Barnes sitting a few feet away from her. They were sitting underneath the same display, him frozen and her slumped.

All she did was flex her fingers, but Barnes still started and looked over at her with distant eyes. She blinked, feeling her head dully throbbing. Her hands touched her throat delicately, wondering if there was bruising as the prior events came back.

"Why are we here?" Around them, the Smithsonian was deserted, though it seemed still too dangerous, too public, and even too bright, for the Winter Solider to pick. Suddenly she understood, remembering the small memorial dedicated to the only fallen comrade in his division, Sergeant James Barnes, which happened to be located right where she was sitting. She looked above her head at the glossy wall of text and the somber black and white picture of Barnes.

"I gave you a bloody nose." He said as she pulled herself into a proper upright position. She wasn't sure if it was an apology or just a statement, and noticed the trail of dry blood not only on the front of her own shirt, but on the shoulder of his.

"That's not the only thing." She muttered, feeling pain as she struggled to swallow. "Why are we here?"

"I come here." It sounded like all she was going to get. She pulled herself into a proper upright position.

"What about HYDRA?"

"Taken care of." She stared.

"What about the guards here, did you kill them too? Need I remind you we're in Washington DC the state capital—"

"I don't do that anymore. I'm only trying to figure myself out now." He turned to her now, eyes narrowed. "That's why I need my file. There are still…patches. Things I don't remember at all." She watched him silently walk closer to his display, eyes scanning it.

"You're telling me you don't remember an ounce of it?" She asked him. His eyes flickered back and forth at the words.

"I would come here nearly every day and read this. I didn't believe it at first. It's like I'm reading about another person." She watched him, unmoving in front of the display.

"You said there were patches…things you remember and things you don't." She tried standing. "I only want to know one thing." He turned his head to the side, not facing her, but the ground.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"About what?" He raised his eyes to her threateningly and dismissive.

"Any of it."

"I just want one thing."

"So do I," he finally turned towards her. "And I know you have it."

"I think you should be more concerned about the fact that you have the FBI out on a massive manhunt for you." She realized, with a sinking feeling, it was going to be harder than she thought to get the information, but she couldn't let him slip away now.

"That's the least of my concerns."

"Yes, well, so far you've only had me looking for you. Not the nation's finest, certainly not HYDRA now, not all of the former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who are on the lookout…are you aware how many people are looking for you? And they're not going to stop, just so you know. I'm sure the Smithsonian will harbor you very nicely." He stared at her for a moment. "Where are you even staying? Here, is it really?"

"Nowhere."

"Then come with me." He frowned. "Listen, my apartment is the safest. You need to lay low for the next few days to get them off your trail. Trust me."

"I don't." He told her warily.

"Of course you don't, but…I do have what you want."


	3. Home

Suddenly, Bellamy found herself with a new occupation. Even after immersing herself with all the raw facts of the file, nothing could prepare her for living in close quarters with the Winter Soldier.

The three hour drive from Washington, D.C. to New York City wasn't awful; her car was discreet and he was sat in the back, silent. She wondered how long he would stay that way, knowing she still had her mission, but also knowing he couldn't avoid talking forever.

"Well, here we are." There was no way else to dress up her welcome, if you could even call it that, as she guided him inside her apartment. He stood awkwardly just inside the front door, staring around, and she too did the same.

"This is just an ordinary apartment. What makes it any different or safe." It was more than one question posed, more than one question that popped into her head. Her building silence added to the tension between them, and she opened her mouth to speak.

"...Do you know who I am?" It occurred to her after she spoke that the correct form would have actually been who she _was_. It didn't matter however, she just needed him to remember the past. His eyes focused on her but after a moment, it seemed that he was looking right through her. "You said that, it's as if you're missing parts. Do you remember who I am?"

"Should I." His questions always lacked normal curiosity and sounded flat, as if he actually didn't care, but his eyes showed that he did. They were back to the back and forth and she took a small breath. Thankfully, she learned over the years to develop a good deal of patience. It proved useful every brief time she dealt with Tony Stark and men like him.

"I don't think it's a bad place to start."

"I'm just here to lay low." His jaw clenched. Persistence was another one of her strengths.

"Maybe we should sit." She gestured over a few feet to the siting area and took a few steps. His feet stayed planted.

"I don't think I should."

"Sit. Please." They locked eyes and she moved to sit in the armchair, watching expectantly, making sure he knew it wasn't a request but a demand. Finally, he was sitting rigidly in front of her, on the edge of the loveseat, looking anything but comfortable and more or less a statue.

His eyes first went from the rug on the wooden floor to the loveseat he was sitting on, before his gaze swept upwards, and their eyes met again. It sent shivers up her spine, realizing they were the last thing both her brother and father saw before taking their last breath. Now, she could feel her own jaw clenching. She swallowed hard and cleared her emotions from her mind to focus.

"The place, where you found me, the bank…how did you know to go there?" He shook his head, slowly back and forth to the side. "Do you remember what it really was?"

"I spent a lot of time there." He finally spoke, breaking his cold expression with his words. Suddenly, he looked much more like the human she saw that night, getting tortured for remembering who he was, until he could no longer remember.

"Do you remember being there, with me?" His thousand yard stare vanished as he locked eyes with her again.

"Why," the word was curt. Their eyes seemed to shout an argument more than they did with their voices, but it was now that she realized more so than ever before how silence was a sound. Silence had different tones. Each time one of them replied, the following silence was an exclamatory screech, blanketing them in suffocating tension.

"I want to know what you remember."

"I told you I don't want to talk about it." His hands made fists at his sides, the metal one glinting from the slight sunlight filtering in through the window. Her own hands were clasped together tightly, atop her crossed leg.

"I'm only trying to help you, if this isn't a mutual coopera—"

"I don't want your help." The conversation was now escalating, his jaw stressed and eyes glaring.

"James—"

"No," he cut her off again, ducking his head, his eyes shutting tightly as if he heard a nails on a chalkboard. Did she say the wrong name?

"Er, is…would you prefer Bucky?" He stood abruptly, and she jumped. "I'm sorry, I wasn't sure which one—" His arm suddenly swung, knocking over the standing lap beside the loveseat and sending it to collide with the wall, effectively disheveling her favorite painting. "Hey!" Her words were void as he reached down and flipped the loveseat into the door.

"Where are they?" He demanded, turning his attention to her with wild eyes. Bellamy couldn't catch her breath as she stuttered unintelligibly. "Why are you keeping me here!" He was ready to go off again, eyes flashing from side to side. Her instinct was to reach for her gun on her hip, but knew the action would set him off.

"James, I want you to listen to my voice." She began shakily, her words wispy and faint against the blood pounding in her ears. "I'm Bellamy. You're in my apartment—there's no one else here. I'm trying to help you." He only stared at her, his silence blaring, before he dove towards her. Bellamy barely had time to duck and throw herself away to the ground. James broke the arm off the chair she had been sitting in.

As soon as her wits came to her, she kipped up, her feet crunching into broken glass from the shattered lamp and lightbulb. Very narrowly, she missed a combination of hooks and punches James threw at her and landed a roundhouse kick, only to receive a hard punch in the jaw with enough power to send her flying into her destroyed loveseat.

"Snap out of it!" She cried, looking around the room for some kind of weapon. There was no way she could take him down with her own strength. "This is not you!"

He only grunted, picking up the standing lamp's pole and charging at her, pressing the bar against her neck. The taste of blood seemed to add to the difficulty of the situation surrounding her as she strained in vain to fight against his strength. The last time someone had tried suffocating her this way, it had been a simulated fight lesson with the Black Widow; fighting wasn't exactly her strength, certainly not against someone with a metal arm.

"This isn't real, what you're…seeing," she managed out, gritting her teeth. His arm clicked as he forced the bar closer to her neck. "It's not real…Bucky." The name seemed to click in the worst way.

"Shut up!" He threw the lamp post and it took a chunk out of her bookcase, a purchase from a Brooklyn antique shop. Now with bar gone, she immediately latched onto his shirt collar.

"Bucky, it isn't real. This isn't real! You have to fight it!" He smacked her across the face with the back of his metal hand, sending her to the ground in a heap with a thud. Her face stung and throbbed; it was like getting hit with a car.

" _Shut up_!" He repeated again, picking her up by her neck with both hands latched. "You're my mission!" Then, as she stared at him through her weakened sight, she remembered being back in Steve's hospital room when he had awoken. He had been relieved to see her, to know she was even alive, and the feeling had been mutual.

"Bucky?" Was the first thing Steve had asked her immediately when he saw her, and she had to shake her head, disappointing him.

"I…I did see him though." She began hesitantly, not sure whether she should tell him, but not wanting to see his disappointment. "HYDRA kept us in the same building, separated by confinement bars. They wiped his memory, Steve. That's what they've been doing all these years. Erasing every shred of his real identity and stuffing him with what they wanted him to be: a malicious and inhumanely cold assassin. A winter soldier. But this last time, when I was there…they had to wipe his memory again, because he remembered you." Steve had straightened up in his hospital bed, his swollen face from the punches of his former best friend still able to smile despite it all.

"It did work." He had murmured to himself before his face collapsed and he sighed heavily. "When we were fighting, all he could say to me, over and over, was, 'you're my mission, you're my mission." Steve had looked down, and he didn't have much else to say, but the renewed look of hope in his eyes were clearly visible, and she knew then that hope would never leave Steve.

"I'm trying to help you!" She protested in a plea to James, refusing to punch him now, or kick him as she should've. No longer could she fight back after remembering Steve.

"No you're not!" He punched her again and she folded under herself on the ground, her eyes seeing double of him as he raised his fist again. They rolled backwards in her head, and in her fight against her body's auto-pilot of her controls, she caught sight of the coffee table, a sturdy wooden table framing stone tiles in the center. Summoning every ounce of strength she had left, she locked her legs around his neck in a gogoplata hold and lifted her lower back off the floor, grunting at her exertion of force, and sending his head straight into the center of the coffee table.

"It's not real." She breathed out weakly, the taste of blood stronger than before as she fought the feeling of fading out and waiting for James to stand and attack again. But he didn't, and she saw him out on the floor beside the table before she drifted away as well.

It was sometime before sunset when she awoke again that same day, still in the wreckage surrounding them; James was still in the same position from earlier. Her body was aching from the abuse of the last two days—she knew she had at the very least a bruised rib or two, along with an added busted lip and swollen face. It was hard to make her body get up, but she was used to forcing herself through these things, though, she did pause and muster slight shock at the sight of her not only swollen, but muddled purple-bruised face in the unmoving television screen, miraculously untouched.

"I definitely didn't plan for this." She muttered to herself before staggering over to James' body. Gingerly, she turned him over to his back and inspected his chest. He was still breathing, and she realized how much of a relief that was, although it did surprise her that his eyes didn't snap open and his hand didn't wrap around her throat as soon as she touched him. His body surely had to be past its limit too.

With slow movements and wincing, she passed James' body on her way to wash the blood from her busted lip away from her face, and retrieved one of the torn blue paisley pillows from the couch to place underneath his head. The mirror in her bathroom made her look worse than the TV did, and she only sighed uncaringly as she splashed cold water onto her face, making herself see instead the hope that had been in Steve's eyes rather than her suffering.

"I've never blacked out two days in a row." She murmured lowly to herself as she sank down to rest with her back against the overturned sofa a few feet away from James' body. Her eyes landed on the painting with a hole through it—a print of water lilies by Claude Monet, now ruined. That was okay—she'd found the painting in a thrift shop, but her grandmother's armchair was a different story.

The sun turned to russet, to violet, and James stirred only when the sun had reached a navy color. She watched him now rather than the sky, feeling her heart pound and her palms growing sweaty. It was obvious to her that she could have very well died today, and well, the day wasn't over yet.

But she knew—when she saw his eyes—that he was no longer in his murderous state, the way his eyes looked around in bewildered horror at the mess. He landed on her, and she was almost insulted at the look of disgust on his face.

"Hello." She greeted him stiffly.

"What happened?" He asked her, pushing away the pillow his head had been resting under.

"I'm guessing you didn't like my décor too much." Was her very dry reply, and he threw her a look that reminded her she didn't have a sense of humor.

"I did this?" He asked, gazing around the room with detached shock, as though he was both surprised and not at the proof of his own ability of destruction.

"Yeah. I suppose I said the wrong thing, triggered something. Regardless." The detached emotion evaporated to reveal pain as it really hit him. He looked at his undeniable destruction before he shook his head slowly, covering his face.

"I knew it would happen again. I can't escape this." His weak voice, full of exhausted anguish, made her feel prickly with guilt. It wasn't his fault, far from it, and she tried to remember that. That he was a victim.

"Not you." She assured him with the most reassurance she could, as soft as she could, but he only sighed at the attempt. "You didn't know what you were doing. But you stopped." She hoped he didn't remember how she had to knock him out for that to be possible.

"Are you trying to tell me that means I'm capable of being saved?" He mocked.

"Of course." He snorted again, shaking his head in loathing.

"Have you seen yourself?" He demanded, turning his head away as if even he couldn't bear her external injuries.

"Yes. It doesn't hurt as bad as it looks." He sent her a subtle eyebrow raise. "Alright, it hurts like hell, but like I said, you didn't know what you were doing. And if we're being honest, I'm more distraught over my grandmother's chair." He buried his face again.

"I almost killed you." He reminded her, reminded himself, before he sighed. "Again."

"I'm strong." She told him, glad he couldn't see her wince as she stood. "You've got to do a lot more than that to take me out."

"I shouldn't be here. I'm not ready yet." He said, standing up with quicker ease that her.

"You never will be if you don't try." She argued. He finally allowed himself to look at her. "It's going to uncomfortable at first, being back around people."

"What makes you think I should even be around people anymore. Why are you even doing this? Why are you letting me stay here?" He demanded. She sighed, moving to stand in front of him.

"We've met before." For some reason, he winced and avoided her gaze. She frowned a bit, and realized how fragile the situation was before her; all she could see no matter what she tried to plan was a path of eggshells. "Back at that bank, I once told you a lot about me. My name is Bellamy Burke, and I help people. It's what I do." He looked back up at her. "If you let me, I can help you too." No response. She hesitated; one concussion a day was enough. "…Why don't we start with what I should call you?"

"Call me whatever you want." He grunted, avoiding her gaze again. A sigh escaped her lips as she turned away from him.

"Alright, James. I'm here to help, and you can help me."

"Just give me my file and I'll go."

"And where will you go? You can't go anywhere right now." He glared, although this time it wasn't directed towards her, it was out of realization. "Now, how about you help me clean up a bit? There's a broom in the pantry, over there in that door." He stood there for a moment longer, several moments longer, even after she had begun dinner, until she wordlessly sighed. "Or, I'll clean up." More quietly under her breath, she muttered, "It was my own fault anyways."

"I only destroy things." She heard him mumble later that night as she tossed a salad. Nonchalantly, she turned towards him.

"That'll change. In time."

James didn't touch his plate after she finished dinner, and she noticed him sitting in the corner of the living room as she washed her plate in the sink. His head was between his knees, creating a self-made barrier to the world.

"Are you not going to eat?" No reply. She gritted her teeth as the silence grew longer. "Fine. Suit yourself then—starve." With loud and jerking gestures, she threw the plate out and washed that too, and crossed the room towards him, only to stop in her tracks at the sight of his face, distraught now as he stared at the floor. It was much like the face she'd seen on him moments before Pierce had forced HYDRA to wipe him. Immediately, she was overwhelmed with the memory, the setting, overwhelmed with guilt as the echo of his screams filled her head.

Quietly, she moved and got blankets and pillows from her hallway closet to make a bed on the loveseat that she pushed from the door back to its normal spot. Finished, she approached him closer this time.

"…James?" After a long moment, he looked up. His eyes connecting to hers made her realize once more that she was being a bit harsh. "I made you a bed here, when you're ready. And if you get hungry at any time, just let me know, okay? I'm down the hall." He said nothing, only looked down again. The silence felt like a question left hanging in the air. With slow-moving care, she kneeled down before him. "What are you thinking about?" He didn't look up again, so she bit her lip, regretting the question, before finally standing. With one last look around the mess of the room, she just decided to go to bed.


	4. Free To Choose

Once in bed, her fatigue was forgotten. It made her feel sheepish when she tucked her gun beneath her pillow. It made her even more embarrassed that she considered locking her bedroom door. Rather than sleeping, she stared a hole through her door. What was he doing? Was he gone? Had he gone on another rampage? Finally, she couldn't stand unanswered questions and threw the sheets back.

The hallway was dark. If she wasn't mistaken, she'd left a hallway light on, along with the only other lamp in the living room. There was only complete darkness now.

"…James?" She forced out. The couch was illuminated in the moonlight and remained untouched, made up with the pillows and blankets she'd placed there. A ball of nerves grew in her stomach; neither of them won if he'd split. Quickly, she hurried down the hallway, only to run right into bulk. It was him, blending into the shadows of the hallway. She could only make out the faint outline of his body and focused on his eyes. He didn't blink. "James…" The ball of worry in her stomach had grown twice its size. Truthfully, if he were having another episode, she wouldn't have the strength to fend him off.

He continued to stand there, glaring down at her. Bellamy could hear her breathing picking up, and the faint sound of her pulse in her ears.

"Bucky," She tried. His eyes flashed.

"Don't." She wasn't sure what he was referring to, but it was likely the name, and she was afraid she had triggered him again. Still, she was brave enough to keep trying.

"You told me, back at those cells, that you were nameless. A machine that kills and gets your task done. But you're not. Do you hear me? You're Bucky." His eyes began to narrow, something pooling in them that looked like recognition. "You told me, in reply, that I was to call you nothing, because you wouldn't hear me talk again. But I did. And we had a talk, do you remember that?" His head tilted ever so slightly.

"You quoted someone." He told her, and she nodded encouragingly.

"Ayn Rand."

"Something about thinking. About virtue."

"'Thinking is man's only basic virtue, from which all the others proceed.'" She began to quote shakily, a quote she memorized and felt as a personal mantra. Like the first time she had spoken it to him, he watched with expressionless eyes, though this time, they grew thoughtful. "'And his basic vice, the source of all his evils, is that nameless act which all of your practice, but struggle never to admit: the act of blanking out, the willful suspension of one's consciousness, the refusal to think - not blindness, but the refusal to see; not ignorance, but the refusal to know.'" He blinked once. "Do you understand what that meant?"

"You should have listened and not spoken." With that, he moved from the shadows of the hallway back to the living room, pacing. She followed quickly.

"You remember that, I know you do. And you did understand it. You chose to not listen to them, you pulled Steve out of the water," his pacing stopped momentarily as his eyes flashed again. "You chose not to kill me. You know what HYDRA did to you, and you know they're at fault. That they were wrong."

"I don't know what I know anymore." He snapped. "I don't remember, I don't know, I can't piece anything together." Frustration made his words sharp, his fingers gripping his hair. Silently, she watched him pace. It was frustrating being close to a breakthrough, but his shakiness, paranoia, and uncertainty halted his progress, and her own.

"Do you want to sleep?" He stopped walking and looked at her. "I made a bed for you on the couch. Maybe it will help you." He eyed the loveseat distrustfully, his eyes going back to her, and she realized it wasn't the makeshift sleeping area he didn't like, but her. "Try to sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Back in her room, her finger hesitated on the lock. Her hand was shaking. It made her feel powerless and afraid in her own home, however, and she decided against it, but did check her gun under her pillow. Again, she thought she would be shifting restlessly and staring uneasily at the door, but at some point likely due to exhaustion, she faded to sleep.

When she awoke, she nearly wished she hadn't as her eyes first landed on her bedside nightstand, the drawer missing and the contents inside—two books, a flashlight, and hair ties with bobby pins—scattered on the ground. Immediately she sat upright, gasping at the mess around her room.

Her sheets had been pulled from her bed, the other bedside table had been torn apart as well, along with her dresser and her entire bookcase. The reading chair in the corner was missing its cushion, every painting on her wall was removed and her rug was tossed to the side. Finally, her gaze landed on James, sitting on the ground beside the bookcase and a huge pile of books, staring a burning hole at her.

" _What_ …" Many things were running through her head but she couldn't decide on anything. All she could do in actuality was shake her with her mouth open.

"Who are you," he questioned. Her S.H.I.E.L.D badge on the ground caught her eye.

"I'm surprised you can't tell me more about myself than even I know, considering you have my file." They glared at each other.

"I don't have it. But you have mine."

"You took my file. And my fathers."

"I don't know your father." She gritted her teeth so hard they grinded.

"Yes. You do."

"Just give me my file and let me go. I know you have it." He stood and she reached for her gun, realizing it wasn't underneath her pillow. She threw him a frantic look, trying to see if her gun was in his hands, or anywhere near him.

"You took my gun?" She demanded, before her hand slid under the pillow next to hers, and touched it, pulling it out in realization. James' face, when she looked back to him, had darkened.

"You slept with a gun?" Defensively, guiltily, she put it down.

"You can't leave. You know that. And yes, I do have your file, but it's not here. I have to go and retrieve it for you. But this," She stood from her bed and swept her arm around her room. "Is completely unacceptable." He wouldn't look at her. Her eyes focused on her books, all first edition copies she had meticulously collected and acquired from her father, now on the ground, some lying open and creasing pages. She felt her mouth hanging open as she stared, before she huffed. "Do I have to tie you up like some kind of animal?" As she snapped, his gaze did the same to her eyes, wide and fearful. The guilt rushed back.

How cruel of her to say, even in anger, and like a subconscious punishment, all she could think of was the image of him, strapped to a chair as HYDRA forced him to forget he was even human.

"I—listen…I didn't, I mean, I'm…" She sighed, her eyes squinting. One of her worst flaws, that Fury liked to point out, was her inability to admit she was wrong, as well as sorry. "…I'm sorry, really. I didn't mean that. You must be hungry, I'll make breakfast in a moment." He glared at the ground, for a moment before he began walking away, stiff and lifeless.

"I'm not hungry." He disappeared around the corner. With a long sigh, she stared blankly at her books before she began to pick up the ones that were carelessly tossed about. Her fingers landed on an Ayn Rand book and she stared at it, realizing it had been closest to where James was sitting, and placed somewhat more carefully than the others. As she finished, she looked at the rest of the mess and elected to ignore it with another long sigh.

" _Authorities around the nation continue their high alert search for the notorious Winter Solider, going as far as grounding flights out of Washington D.C. and other large airports across the east coast. Citizens are encouraged to remain on watch as well as indoors to aid in their safety."_ The TV volume was low, but the news was still heard by Bellamy as she cooked breakfast, and James, who glared at her bookcase with a still missing chunk. He appeared to be ignoring the TV, a piece of technology she wasn't sure he had been familiarized with. At least she didn't have to remind him he couldn't leave again.

"Howard Stark had a son?" His question confused her, until she looked up from the omelets and noticed he was watching the screen. The headline at the bottom read _'Billionaire Tony Stark unveils new Avengers tower'_ with accompanying footage of him answering questions from a frenzy of press in front of said tower. She resisted the urge of rolling her eyes as James watched her.

"Yes." She confirmed almost with reluctance. Stark was a can of worms she never liked opening.

" _Mr. Stark, how difficult was it to rebuild the tower after the attack in New York and have you been involved with the efforts in rebuilding buildings to make them more fortified in case of another attack?_ "

" _Yes, of course that was me, who else is going to pay for all that? This baby right here is the overseer of protection in New York; in it will be the entire team of Avengers, including a Demi-God, so I'd like to see anything try and attack New York again. Also, it's self-sustainable, good for the environment and all that. Go ahead, say what we're all thinking: I'm a genius."_

" _Mr. Stark, I believe the self-sustainability idea was an idea and initiative brought forward by your partner and CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper Potts—"_

" _Yes, but I made it happen. Next question? C'mon, I don't have all day."_ Bellamy rolled her eyes.

"He builds things?" James asked her, and she nodded. He turned back to the TV, almost in wonder, before he looked down. "Just like his dad." She looked at him quickly, surprised he remembered that much of Tony's father, though it made sense, seeing that Howard was a close friend of Steve.

" _Mr. Stark, why are all the Avengers going to be staying here, and is it permanent? Is there a threat we don't know about and will you be able to prevent it_?"

" _Does it involve HYDRA, Mr. Stark?"_ James' entire attention was captured again at the name, and he walked closer to the TV anyways, his eyes narrowed.

" _I can't reveal things like, then everyone would know, now wouldn't they?_ " Tony pointed out thickly, thought the last of his words were drowned out by the sound of the press reporters growing more frantic. Steve had exited the building and moved to stand next to Tony, a concerned frown on his features.

" _Captain Rogers, are the Avengers still searching for secret HYDRA bases?_ "

" _HYDRA is being dealt with."_ Steve confirmed assuredly.

" _Captain, how do you feel about the FBI and their search for the Winter Soldier, and do you think he'll be brought to justice?"_ James had uncrossed his arms, making fists at his sides. Steve visibly seemed to have to contain himself, his jaw flexing.

" _Bucky—…James Barnes isn't a criminal or some fugitive._ " Tony was even looking concerned now at Steve, who looked uncharacteristically angered.

" _Captain, he killed several people and assassinated an extensive list—_ "

" _The man you all call The Winter Solider, that's not James Barnes. The man the FBI is hunting is a lost soul. He's hurt. He's broken, he's dangerous because he has no other choice. He isn't responsible for the lives lost. HYDRA is, and that's why they're being taken out. But, Bucky, I know you're out there."_ Steve looked directly at the camera, peering directly at every viewer in their homes. His anger faded to a forgiving look of reassurance. " _Bucky, if you see this, if you're watching, I want you to know it's okay. I want you to know that I—"_ She jumped as the TV screen shattered and fizzed as James punched his arm through it.

The pan sizzled and James caught his breath as she stared silently at the destroyed TV, fizzing. Very slowly, she released the breath she had been holding in.

"I could've turned it off."

"Sorry." He muttered absently, before he moved and sat down on the sofa as if he had been aged. She continued cooking, knowing his mind was in shambles.

"Steve still has a world of faith in you." She began, eyeing the back of his head cautiously. He stood up later, when she had nearly forgotten she had spoken at all, looking at her with unbelieving cynical eyes.

"He shouldn't." He said as he took a seat at the dining table. What could she say, that she agreed with him? Seeing him now, she didn't have a lot of faith in him either. In fact, every time she looked at him, her lenses shifted from rose-colored where she could see him as a victim, to a vengeful red, where she could only see a murderer. But, it was always her job to help victims, and she tried to focus on that.

And even then how could she? S.H.I.E.L.D. was a lie, her entire life seemed full of twisted lies. Despite this, she knew she had bettered the world. She had helped victims. Seeing Steve on her TV screen reminded her of his hope, a pure unquestionable trust that only he seemed to have in James.

"I believe everyone has the opportunity to start anew."

"You believe in a lie." She swallowed, staring down at the food.

"Maybe." Their silence was layered, the TV, the food cooking, and the wordless building of their conversation.

"I just want my file."

"I know the feeling." She turned around to face him and received an angry glare.

"Do you?" His hands held onto the edge of the wooden table, gripping it tightly, and she wondered briefly if his mechanical arm had the strength to chip the edge of it (of course he could, she realized quickly). Her jaw clenched.

"Try me."

"You would never understand how it feels, to not know yourself. To be told lies constantly while trying to fight and hold onto the truth. It's like being tossed back and forth in the ocean and not knowing which way is up. I want to know the truth." _I do know_ , she wanted to scream, as the past events of her life replayed in her mind, the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., finding out _someone_ knew what happened to her father and _she_ was the one being lied to. Lately, she didn't know which way was up or down. He interrupted her thoughts with a resigned tone. "Why do you bother helping people." He was staring at the empty plate in front of him.

"It was a broad description, it isn't exactly my specialty. Really, all I do…" _Did_ , she corrected in her mind. "Is protect people. Protect peace. The best I could anyways. After-all, that's all we can do: our best."

"Or worst." He frowned at his plate.

"We have a choice." She told him, trying to earn his gaze. "We control our thoughts. Our choices. Our actions."

"Except when you don't have a choice." She looked at him seriously, as she filled his plate and waited until he met her gaze.

"You do now."


	5. Hot Shower

It was nice enough, Bellamy considered that day's turn of events and nearly nice morning conversation a success due to the simple fact he refrained from trying to kill her. It was the most they talked, their silence filled the rest. Bellamy wondered if her reminder of his newly realized sense of free-will seemed to stick with him and make him think in a healthy way. She hoped he could find some sense in her words, and tried convincing herself in the meantime he looked to be with constructive thoughts rather than bad ones, that he was staring at the bookcase rather than glaring.

Constructive thinking when conscious or not, he still couldn't control his unconscious stream of thoughts, and that was when she realized she was foolish for thinking his situation to be so black and white. That night in the close quarters of her apartment as she tried to tidy her room, she could hear an array of noises coming from the living room, all expressing pain. Her hand rested on her gun contemplatively, but his yelp pulled her from the room without it, and she stumbled in on him having what could only be a nightmare.

"James," she shook his shoulder gently. His arm flexed, making a mechanical sound, and she had to duck out of the way as he swung it at nothing. "James, wake-up. You're okay," his restless squirming was growing more ceaseless, and there was a light sheen of sweat on his anguished face. Her heartbeat picked up nervously.

" _No_!" He cried out, before letting out a wail similar to the one she had been forced to hear as they wiped his mind in their imprisonment. It brought back the feelings of original pity from the time she first realized he wasn't just a mindless monster—monsters didn't feel this kind of torment. She shook him harder, realizing she couldn't even imagine what he was dreaming.

"Bucky! Bucky, wake up!" He jolted upright, panting heavily and eyes looking around him frantically. She was still latched onto his shoulders and forced him to look into her own eyes as he still tried searching for an unknown enemy around them. "Bucky, you're here, you're with me. You're safe. Bucky…you're safe." She kept repeating, like a chant, breathing hard with him. His eyes were calming as he stared at her.

"You…" His eyes were locked directly on her, his voice twisting the word in a mixture of realization and wonder, and she was confused as he pushed past her off the loveseat, running away with heavy steps. The front door was still locked and sealed when she automatically checked there, and then finally understood where he had run to when she heard the sound of him retching in the bathroom. Her footsteps were slow, weary and tired, and she grew angry, almost, at the evil in the world.

So much progress she had seen—he had looked at her with knowing confirmation after nearly being pulled back into the nightmare, only for him to suffer now from this. She didn't feel sick, other than the discomfort she felt at the sound of his violent struggle behind the half closed door, so it couldn't have been the food they ate. Or maybe, he just hadn't eaten in so long, maybe it was too much for him at once, the food and everything else around him. But really, she knew it ran deeper than that. It was the first of many times she nearly called Steve, but didn't. Instead, she sighed and walked into the bathroom, hesitantly holding his unkempt hair back. In between his struggle, he tried pushing her back, but she persisted and won after another wave of nausea attacked him.

"Go away. I don't want you here." He told her after he shuddered and flushed the toilet, trying to sound forceful and cold, but lacking persuasion. She shook her head firmly, and he didn't bother arguing. Instead, he sank backwards down onto the ground, pressing himself into the corner, pressing his face against the cool bathtub. She sat down against the door, pulling her knees to her chest. "Why weren't you sleeping?" He asked with his eyes shut, his face twisted in a grimace. She looked down at her knee caps, not wanting to watch if he suffered another bout of sickness.

"I heard you." It took him a long time to respond. She looked up, wondering if he had nodded off. He was staring at the door above her with intense interest.

"Will I ever be okay?" He whispered, his eyes trickling down the door before he locked eyes with her. "Will it ever stop?" The vulnerability in his voice reminded her of him asking desperately about the man he remembered on the bridge.

"One day." It was the only thing she could tell him, no matter how bleak. He was right, he didn't deserve anymore lies. She could see that his mind was still stuck in that place. It wasn't good. She stood up silently and walked out into the hallway, going and retrieving a washcloth and a large towel. He hadn't moved an inch when she returned. "Up." She told him. He looked up at her blankly. "Come on, you need to clean yourself up. Time for a shower." His eyes narrowed a bit, and, as if he were now a bit conscious, drew the back of his hand across his mouth. Surely, he knew what a shower was; he wasn't Thor who was used to bathing in the rich hot springs of Asgard.

"I don't—"

"A shower will help you feel better. It'll wash all the dirt away and it'll feel good on your back, and neck. That old sofa wasn't comfy before it was even broken, it can't be good to sleep on." He resembled a robot sometimes, especially in moments like this, like he couldn't comprehend what she was telling him. Maybe he really couldn't, she wasn't sure, but she moved past him anyway and turned the knob for water that was hotter than just a warm, but not too hot.

He stood by her, not moving. Gently, she gave his normal arm a guiding pull towards the shower. He frowned, pulling back a bit, until she looked up at him and pulled his hand again, still gentle but with a firm grasp, to let him feel the water run over his fingers. "Is that a good temperature?" He left his hand there even after she removed hers. Finally, he nodded absently. She looked around, wondering how to get him properly underneath the running water. "Alright, um…do you want to get in now?" He didn't answer. "Because, we're wasting water…the environment is a bit more in danger nowadays than it used to be." He looked at her quizzically. "Never mind that, environmental awareness can wait. I'll, uh…here, I'll just go and get you some soap…" She left the room and went back to the hallway closet, retrieving a new bar of soap. Pausing before entering, she pressed her ear against the door. She didn't want to return too soon, in case he had started undressing, but she couldn't hear anything other than the steady shower. Her hand knocked on the cracked door, knocking it open a bit wider, and earning her no reply.

Bellamy pushed in, eyes halfway shut already as if she were expecting the sun, but he was still standing the way she had left him, staring at the water running. She sighed lightly, holding the soap in her hand.

"The hot water doesn't last for too long." He didn't react. The thought of maybe getting him to shower at a different time crossed her mind, but she could still smell the lingering stench of sickness, and she knew he could too. It was time he started fresh, and washed the literal dark circles away from his eyes. "Come on, then. The water feels good." She pulled his hand again before she herself stepped carefully into the tub, feeling her hair immediately flatten to her head and her shirt cling to her skin. He frowned deeply at her as she pulled him in with her, and they stood staring at each other in the tub, like two unhappy rumpled cats with their pelts soaked in the rain. "See?"

His eyes looked up slowly to the shower head he was standing directly under, and she froze, hoping he wasn't about to rip it from the wall with the unlimited strength in his arm. Instead, his eyes fluttered shut, and he tilted his head back all the way, the water running over his eyes and eyelashes, the stubble and hair on his cheeks and chin, and sleeking his hair down as it cleansed him, freed him from one less constriction, like rain run-off water dwindling down a mountain to the valley.

It almost felt wrong to disturb him, but she gently reached out, grabbing a hold of his shoulders. His eyes opened immediately and he stared at her through the water. "Turn around." She instructed, and he cooperated after a moment, now letting the water pound against his chest, ruffling the cotton shirt that stuck to his skin. His eyes closed again, and she filled her palm with shampoo before she brought her hands to his hair. His head twitched backwards slightly, and she made a small sound in shock when his metal hand tightened around her wrist instantly. Her hand was outstretched and straining with no possibility of motion as her forearm was wrenched over his shoulder. She let out a shaky breath as he watched as the remaining shampoo drizzle from her hand onto his shirt and to the bottom of the tub.

"What are you doing?"

"I was just…" What _was_ she doing? It was almost embarrassing really, but he still withdrew his hand from hers nonetheless. She immediately pulled it closer to her chest and circled the ligaments in her wrist. "You looked like you've never been taught the concept of showering, I was just making sure you got a thorough wash." Her voice was slightly defensive, out of the embarrassment she felt. Really, the situation she was in at the moment was questionable enough without her having to complicate it further by trying to _wash an assassin's hair_ , especially when that assassin was a capable young man and had almost succeeded in killing her multiple times prior.

"Sorry." He told her. She hesitated now, her instincts telling her to hop out of the tub to escape her clumsy mistake and put out the burning mortification, but it almost didn't seem right, like leaving a conversation hanging. Bucky stood as if he were waiting for her to proceed, his hands obediently at his sides. In a way, it almost seemed mean to leave, for some reason. Maybe she was just imagining it.

"Do you…uh, d-do you want me to…?" She spoke up, because she felt obligated, but immediately regretted the decision and wished she had just gotten out. "I, I can—if you want, or I can leave. I'll leave."

"You can." He told her, keeping her in place with his vocal confirmation. She panicked on the inside; what if she had made him think this was a normal activity? The only thing keeping this chaste was their clothes, they were in an entirely too intimate setting for her to wash his hair like couples did. Some couples didn't even do this. Every ounce of professionalism in her body, the maturity and sensibility she had acquired early in life couldn't understand how she had gotten herself into this position.

Fury's words came to her at that moment, _Agent Romanoff is comfortable with everything_. She wasn't Natasha—she was trained to get the job done in the most orderly professional manner, not by the ends justifying the means; she was trained the right way. Lawful. Her hesitation continued until Bucky glanced over his shoulder; truthfully he had become one with the tiled shower walls surrounding her in her vision, until he moved. "Are you…" He didn't finish as he eyed her in slight confusion. She sighed, shaking her head, trying to shake her averseness. "You aren't?"

"I'm not?" She questioned with a blink. He could've been asking if she were alright, or maybe if she were going to, frankly, just grow up and do as she had clumsily, foolishly, started to do and just wash the man's hair. Either way, he had mistaken the flustered shake of her head as her answer and shrugged lightly.

"It'll be fine." She blinked once again at his response, though not out of confusion, but at the thoughtfulness that washed over. Sure, his hair would be fine, most likely, despite the visible knots and deadened ends, and sure, she would be fine too. As if to confirm this new mindset, she took an intake of the steaming air, exhaling her former embarrassment, and filled her palm with more liquid shampoo.

The white liquid turned to thick white bubbles, covering his hair like a foamy blanket. She took care to tilt his head back far enough to ensure the soap wouldn't burn his undoubtedly sensitive eyes. The focus in her fingertips relaxed as her mind began to switch from the task at hand to self-evaluation she couldn't hide from. Many times, she had, though not outwardly, looked down on the field agents like Natasha. The assassins, the employees of espionage, notorious for sinking to any means to achieve their missions, be it lying, deceit, seduction, ruthlessness. That was the dirty way, the way that was always the easier route, at least to her. It always seemed much harder to get the jobs done with a professional grace, always demanding respect, always being the bigger person, always better in her ways simply because she had always thought herself to be more prudent. Better, better, that's what they told her, anyways. There was a reason why she the Deputy Director rather than Natasha, right?

But, despite all of her seemingly impressive credentials, she had still flinched away from a mildly embarrassing situation she herself had created. Natasha wouldn't have even batted an eye, she could handle anything, and it was that fact that made her realize what she had always thought to be immaturity was actually extreme maturity, and something she apparently lacked. Despite her experience out there, she had always only taken down the easy thugs, the easier suits, or sealed the deals on peace agreements. It took a whole lot more to handle an unpredictable mission where you never knew where the day would take you, you never knew what your person of interest was going to do.

The only importance in front of her was fairly simple; James needed help. Yet, she had managed to complicate it. It wasn't hard, she had helped many people in need, many children in the small African villages littered with hunger, with AIDS, with malaria, and every other god-awful thing that existed in the world. That was it, another connection. She had done with James what she would've done with any child; she was trying to care for them. Because they had no one else, simply that. They had no shoulder to lean upon.

Her fingers had already traveled from the tips of his brittle hair to the base of it, where her fingers were swirling circles into his scalp when he finally spoke, interrupting her movement and train of thought. "You were right," he murmured. It was the most at ease she had witnessed him, even compared to sleep, which always seemed disturbed. "This does feel nice."

"A shower can help anything." She agreed distractedly, before she began to turn him back around again. He was facing her once more, and he tilted his head on his own, washing the soap out of his hair with his hands. She watched the bubbled foam build up on the ground and slide down his shirt, realizing he was still dressed. That wasn't efficient. "I'll leave you to it now, um, take as long as you'd like." He nodded, eyes still shut as she climbed out, dripping water onto the floor and taking the large towel to dry off. She shut the door behind her and went to her room to change into something dry.

An hour later, after she had started brewing the coffee and scrambling eggs, she was still towel drying various strands of her hair, blinking tired sleep out of her eyes. The sky was a salmon color, quickly turning orange with shades of blue peeking out behind the buildings as the sun began its ascent. Despite the popping of the bacon in the pan, she was still slumping on the counter, in danger of hitting her head if it slipped from her upright hand, when the shower cut off. A moment later, the door opened and she jumped, blinking at James who poked his head out the door. A strand of soaking hair dripped water onto his face and the hallway wood floor.

"Do you have a towel?" He inquired. She realized she had taken his and instantly sprang forward, hurrying to the hallway closet and grabbing another large one.

"Sorry." She apologized and looked away down at the floor politely. He said nothing as he took it from her, though she thought she had saw his lips twitching before she turned away.

"And clothes?" She started and turned back to him as he stared back blankly. "Mine are wet."

"Oh…er, right. Hang on, I'll just…be right back." He shut the door again, and she stayed standing where she stood, before she swallowed. She had only one man's clothing in her house.

Her steps dragged, slowly carrying her to her closet. With rigid fingers and slow movements, she pushed her clothes to the side to reach the ones at the end of her closet, having belonged to her brother.

The pants came first, before her fingers gingerly, reluctantly, settled on a long sleeved cotton shirt. There was a soft black spot, she knew it from the memories of the nights spent clutching the fabric to her chest, crying. The nights she was kept up, sleepless.

Her eyes stared at the two articles of clothing with unseeing eyes, realizing she could never completely not see both her father and brother's murderer in Bucky. She wanted to see him as a victim, she wanted to believe it, she wanted to help him selflessly, but could only see his actions. Now, she was to give him the only clothes of Bronson she had and watch him walk around like an awful cruel joke only she knew?

Bellamy continued to stare at the clothes, before she remembered, somehow again, Natasha. She pushed her heart back down her throat and walked back numbly towards the bathroom, knocking twice and leaving the clothes on the ground in front of the door. She didn't wait for him to take them and instead moved to stare out the window at the city.


	6. Every Second

Breakfast was laying out when James came out. Her eyes avoided him as she walked past him.

"Help yourself. I'm going to shower."

"I think I used all the hot water." He remarked.

"It'll be alright."

The water was cold. It was freezing, but she wanted brisk. Out back in the living room, she expected to see James sleeping again, or at the very least, on the couch, but he wasn't. There was a plate sitting on the dining table, with half the eggs gone and almost all of the bacon too, but no James. Her head turned at the feeling of a breeze against her skin, and she noticed the opened balcony door.

There he was, standing on the balcony, looking out intently. The sleeve of his normal arm was rolled up, but the other was still down, pooling around his metal knuckles that glistened from the sunlight. As she stared, the peaceful breeze wafting in and gently ghosting her skin, a sense of melancholy washed over her. Before her, if she wanted to give in and pretend, she could still see Bronson, remember him wearing that outfit. Her eyes were watering as James turned and looked over his shoulder.

"Everything okay?" She asked, blinking harshly. He stared at her closely and she wondered if he could see her eyes glinting from where he stood. Regardless, he turned back around, away from her.

"I was hoping standing in the sun could warm me up." It seemed simple enough, but at the same time, there was something about his statement that sounded so depressing. Silently, she walked out and stood a little ways away from him.

When she was able to, she glanced over at him, watching him stare down at the street below.

"Do you…do you really not remember anything at all?" Her voice was small.

"It's like glimpses." He finally answered, though didn't look at her. "But there's two versions. The real thing, and something else. Some things are completely gone. Some things feel so real but it's like…trying to see something in muddy water. Then it's gone." He lifted his gaze to the sun, and somehow, even with the warm tones highlighting his features and eyes, he still looked distressed. "Then, it comes back. And it's so vivid…but I don't know if it's true."

It was a never-ending job, adapting to care for Bucky, harder when days like the shower incident reminded her it was a job she wasn't too good at handling. A few days felt like a few weeks. One night, their silent conversation was interrupted with her ringing phone. Bucky looked at it in great alarm, leaping to his feet, and she wished she had stuck with the default ringtone rather than one that sounded like an alarm that warned of looming destruction.

"It's Steve." She told him, reading the name before showing him herself. She stared at him for a moment before she nearly answered, until his hand swatted it to the floor.

"Don't," he protested, sounding anxiously angry, bothered by Steve's presence even when he wasn't there.

"That's suspicious," She told him calmly, and he hesitated. The two of them stared down at the back of her ringing phone.

"If you tell him I'm here I'll run," He threatened. Solemnly, she nodded.

"Okay," she agreed as she kneeled to pick it up, hoping the screen hadn't shattered. It wasn't, and she answered on the last ring. "Hello?"

" _Where are you_?" She chuckled at Steve's no nonsense tact. It reminded her of herself.

"Far away from you."

" _Are you with Fury?_ " It was clear he wasn't entirely sure where she was.

"Why don't you ask him."

" _He would lie. And I consider us to be friends, Bellamy._ " Her eyes locked with Bucky and she swallowed. Prior, lying to Steve was never an issue—it was easy to lie to any of the Avenger's faces. But now, it wasn't. " _So as a friend, Bellamy, tell me where you are_. _Please_."

"It's a personal mission. Not in the states. I can't tell you more than that, and you need to respect that, Steve. As friends."

" _Okay._ " He agreed. His naivety hurt her, for a reason she didn't completely know.

"Why?" He sighed on the other end.

" _I heard something. I suppose it wasn't true_. _There was a sighting of the Winter Soldier from civilians, a couple of days ago._ " Bucky was frowning with his eyes on her.

"I'm sorry, Steve, I can't help you with that." Before he could say more, she hung up and dropped the phone from her ear. Bucky's eyes were concerned, she couldn't tell if he had heard Steve's voice or not. At least the concern in his eyes were the only concerning thing about his appearance; after his shower, he looked much healthier and less like a starving sewer rat. If she was still shaky on figuring out certain things, it was reassuring to know she could at least get him to look alive.

"He's upset." Bucky either guessed or had observed.

"He's worried about you." She told him.

"That's why he called?"

"Yes." He hesitated, staring at her phone again. "If…if you want to use my phone or call him—"

"No." He had walked away abruptly, going back to sitting on the couch.

"Why don't you trust Steve?" She asked him. "You two were friends. Close friends."

"I know," he murmured. "But Steve is chasing after someone who isn't here anymore." Quietly, she sat in her grandmother's broken chair, staring out the window.

"Maybe not."

"I'm not the same man." He insisted lowly. She turned away from the dark sky and city lights, looking at the couch still unslept in.

"Are you actually going to sleep tonight?" He shot her a look over his shoulder. "You look awful."

"So do you." Fair enough, she was the one bruised still.

"I guess we both need sleep." As he gazed over the couch, she took the opportunity to leave. "Goodnight, Bucky."

Outside her room in the hallway ticked the old grandfather clock from her family. Inside it, she knew his files were there. She didn't need to retrieve them from anywhere, they were there. In her mind, her lie was for the better; she wasn't done with him yet.

Despite their apparent agreement of sleep, she stayed restless and awake in bed. The gun was gone from underneath her pillow—the only improvement. On her back, she stared at the ceiling, awaiting for the tiniest of noises. Just as she was beginning to think she was possibility overly paranoid, she heard the creaky floorboards signaling footsteps in the next room over, the study that acted as her office. The sound she could've perhaps imagined, but not the unmistakable noise of the squeaky drawer to the old desk opening.

Silently, she pulled the covers back to get up and stop him before he could ransack another room of her house; she still hadn't cleaned the living room and her own bedroom didn't feel as organized as it once had.

Bellamy knew how to step on the floor in order to remain silent, and she stood in the shadow of the door frame, watching him. His back was to her as he peered at the large bookcase behind the desk. Thankfully and much to her relief, he only looked. He turned away and stopped in his tracks at something hanging on her wall. A frown grew on her face as he grabbed it slowly, perhaps thinking something was behind it, but instead he brought it closer for examination. His grip had tightened so much on the picture his metal fingers crushed through the glass. As if it had grown hot, it fell from his fingers and shattered to the ground. It was a picture of her, standing with her diploma from Brown University.

Her gaze raised in shock from the shattered glass to him, unexpectedly finding him staring at her. He was in some kind of state again, only this time, he looked utterly horrified at the sight of her. Slowly, she stepped forward, only for him to back away.

"Bucky, hey. It's me, it's alright. I'm not mad." She couldn't understand why he looked so terrified. He wasn't in a trance, his eyes were very clearly there, now avoiding her gaze.

"Why are you letting me stay here," He'd asked before, though this time in a tone as though he couldn't even fathom it.

"Because, I'm trying to help you."

"Then help me and give me my file so I can go!" He snapped, yelling. It was as if floodgates between them had broken, the silent conversation disappearing as nothing was no longer held back. "Why won't you just give it to me!"

"Because I'm not done with it yet!" She yelled back. He flinched, and she realized she was breathing hard. Rarely ever did she yell, and it made her think of Pierce. Bitterly, she grimaced at him, her only outlet for her anger, her only reason to hold so much pain. "Everyone thinks that once you become an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. on a certain level you automatically get in on all the secrets. But you don't. That's not how Nick Fury works. Even as Deputy Director I was never told how my own father died. I'm still trying to find out." Her eyes were watering. Bucky stared back at her evenly.

"That's why I'm here," he realized flatly. No longer did she know what to say. He gestured to the picture on the ground between them. "That's when you graduated. It's when he died." His voice dropped lower and trembled slightly. "Because I did it." The self-hatred oozing from his words dragged her out of her selfish emotions.

"It wasn't you. It was HYDRA." It sounded more like she were trying to convince the both of them. "But, you know what happened. Please, you have to remember what happened, you have to try and remember. I've looked in every file, everywhere. I can't find my father's file, I can't find my own—you're my only hope."

"I'm your only hope?" He snorted darkly. "I am the reason your father is dead. I don't have to try to remember, I remember it very clearly. I remember you. I remember you standing next to your brother in the elevator in a blue dress suit, I remember the look on your face as I dragged him out to kill him." Her heart dropped, her vision blurred between normal and red. "It was me. Those were my hands and your brother's neck; you should hate me." She shook her head, not in disagreement, but in an effort to clear it.

"I did. I hated you every second at his funeral, I hated you every second I stood alone in that elevator, screaming and trying to get out to him, every single day of my life I hated you. And then, you killed Fury, well, so we thought. And there I was, the new Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., without my superior, father, and brother…because of you. And then, I found out everything I'd ever known was a lie. I found out nothing I did mattered, and it was all at the hands of HYDRA and I am tired of hating. I'm done. I'm trying to help myself and help you get inner peace."

"I don't deserve it." He rebuked her without hesitating. "I'm not worth it."

"Yes, you are." She insisted.

"How can you even say that?" He snapped, cutting her off. "You don't believe that. I'm a monster and I really did do all of these things. I did it. It's not just a nightmare your head comes up with when you are the nightmare. I remember every victim. And I remember your father, and I wish I could switch places with him so he could be here and you could have him and help him, not me."

"What happened?" Her voice was a whisper. Bucky glared at the floor, shaking his head. "What happened?" The second time she screamed that night, her voice shaky as if it didn't know how to raise. Bucky swallowed.

"I remember every second…" His voice too was uneven as he struggled to speak. "Your father kissed you goodbye that morning. He promised you he'd be there for your graduation. You were valedictorian, and giving a speech. Said he wouldn't miss it for the world." It was a memory she hadn't relived, and her eyes shut at the perfect picture. Her father was never a man to make promises, he considered himself a man of honor and never made them if he didn't intend to follow through. She never made promises either. She was overwhelmed with joy that morning; work kept him away a lot, but having her parents and brother there would make everything worth it.

At her graduation, he never showed up. It was the first time she felt truly let down by him. As she made the speech, a part of her still hoped he was there in the crowd, but he wasn't. After the small party her family threw her at their house was when she found out.

"He didn't miss it." Bellamy stared at him in shock. "He was there, watching, hiding. He knew I would be there too. He saw your speech, he knew it was the perfect location." Bellamy felt the tears beginning to overwhelm themselves in her eyes until they finally slid down her cheeks.

"What? Perfect location for what?" Bucky turned his dark gaze to her.

"I was never after your father. I was never after your brother. You were always the target." Horrified, she realized she had a job lined up for S.H.I.E.L.D. with her brother and father after graduation. When her father declined, she chose the U.N. instead. "He knew I would be there, he was watching from the roof of a building nearby. Damaged my arm and stopped the mission. HYDRA decided to let you live a bit longer as long as you suited their agenda."

It was too much. All this time, she was the reason. She was the cause. Her family was dead, because of her existence. She's spent more than enough time looking at the Winter Soldier's list of political assassinations. She was supposed to be on it.

Bucky's sudden change of expression from hatred to pity made her realize how much she was crying. Without a word, she turned away. With rough recklessness, she toppled the grandfather clock over and pulled open the back to pull out the thick files of information she had. With them in her hands, she stared into the doorway of her bedroom, not giving much thought to anything anymore and marching in to retrieve her gun. Wordlessly again, she returned to him in the same position.

She threw the files, both HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. documents, on the desk and gripped the gun tightly in her right hand. Still, she had so many questions, only now she wasn't sure if she even cared for the answers. A fury she'd never known was boiling in her chest, and she could hear her harsh breathing and feel the tears spilling from her eyes—she'd never felt so many emotions all at once in her life.

Bucky's eyes raised to the files before he looked at her, his gaze slipping calmly down to the gun she still held tightly in her shaking hand. She stared at his blank face, feeling her breathing grow more erratic, before she scowled in frustration and dropped the gun and chose instead to leave the room, and the apartment. If he left while she was gone, she wouldn't care anymore.


	7. A Phone Call

Outside of her apartment, there were still people about, taxis driving amongst other cars. Briefly, she considered stopping one but had no idea where she'd go. By a streetlamp directly in front of her sat a bench, and she wiped her eyes roughly before walking over and sitting down and pulling out her phone to call a number she hadn't called in years.

" _Hello_?" Her breath caught in her throat for a minute.

"Mom?"

" _Bellamy_?" Her mother was stunned. " _Are you alright? It's late—not that I mind at all_." Bellamy didn't answer right away.

"I'm okay." Her mother now took some time too.

" _So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"_ The subtle tone of hurt and accusation couldn't be ignored, nor the feeling of everything crashing down in her chest, like a house toppling over.

"I'm sorry. I know you try to call, but I've been busy all the time…up until this point."

" _Yes, I know. How are you really doing_?" Through the torrid of emotions she was struggling between, anger was the most prominent.

"I don't really know what the right word is to describe the…wrath of finding out my brother and father both sacrificed their lives for me."

" _Bellamy…_ " Her mother murmured. Bellamy paused, shaking her head as the tears she'd been fighting the entire phone call built up. " _I—I meant to tell you, sooner or later, but the time never seemed right_."

"Yes, the time never seemed right to tell me I had an assassin after me who could—and would—potentially kill my family!"

" _Nick Fury promised to me on his life that he would never allow anything to happen to you. I wanted to believe him, and I foolishly did, but maybe I did because I knew you were so very capable, my angel. You're just like your father_." Her voice was growing weaker, before it broke completely and she had to pause. A knot had formed in Bellamy's own throat, caused by the sound of brokenness from her mother. " _I wanted to tell you, but I never see you anymore anyways_." Bellamy paused long enough to make sure her voice was strong.

"What happened to dad?"

" _It was the night of your graduation_." Immediately tears spilled down her cheeks. " _He wanted to be there, honey, I promise he did. He saw your speech and everything; the last thing his eyes saw of this world...was you_." Bellamy broke completely and cried, clutching the phone before it slipped from her ear and into her lap where she could hear her mother quietly weeping as well. Pierce's words were still there, more haunting than ever.

 _When are you going to let yourself break?_ More tears fell and she felt a horrible sensation of guilt, of foolish naivety of her to forget her own mother.

"Mom," she mumbled as she quickly picked the phone up again and pressed it to her ear.

" _Yes Bella_?" The simple nickname she hadn't heard in years caused stray tears, but she quickly wiped them away.

"How did you cope? How are you okay with this, knowing the Winter Soldier did this?" She was silent once more and she feared she had made her cry more, until her voice came through, steady and strong.

" _I forgave_."

"How?"

" _I realized after a long, long time that my anger was only hurting me. And what would it do? It would destroy me, it wouldn't bring your father back, it wouldn't bring my son back. It wouldn't fix anything, it was only hurting me. And I needed closure. Forgiving is a lot harder than hating, but that's because we are too hard on ourselves, Bella. The only way out of my, and your own, labyrinth of suffering is forgiveness. That's the only way to make yourself lighter_."

She spent more time on the bench than she liked, but she disliked more how emotional she was. There was a possibility Bucky was still there, and she couldn't go back just yet. So she stayed on the bench without anything else to do, and without any will to think of anything else.

There was no way for her to know how much time had passed by the time she went back up, but the sky almost looked lighter. The apartment was the same as she had left it. Quietly, she walked to the study, to find Bucky sitting at her desk, sitting with clenched fists, the files pushed away from him.

"You're still here." He looked over at her.

"Are you back to kill me." He ducked his head lower. "After reading that…" He raised his head. "You knew all of that, but you're still just standing there?"

"What am I supposed to do, shoot you in the head?" She asked numbly.

"I thought you would. I was ready."

"You are not dying today." She approached him and sat in the chair across from him.

"You got what you wanted. Why am I still alive? I don't have any reason to be here anymore. If I get captured, I'm either dead, locked away, or going to be wishing I were dead. Why—"

"You need to stop." He looked at her, puzzled. "You're here for a reason." He chuckled darkly.

"Maybe you should stop too." She raised an eyebrow. "Lying to yourself." His words hit her hard and she realized maybe she came back a bit too soon. Bucky's eyes softened, and he opened his mouth but stuttered and came to the agreement of no words as he saw the moisture building in her eyes. "…I know you hate me…" She shook her head.

"I let my anger control my logic. I let HYDRA get into my head and manipulate me like everyone else. I forgot the real enemy. They ruined so much for everyone. For me."

"So did I." She grimaced but looked down and said nothing, before she took a steadying breath.

"Did he suffer." Her tone was so controlled she impressed herself with the amount of composure she was displaying.

"It was quick. Painless." He told her, but the words gave him no apparent relief. Her eyes focused on the file.

"I didn't give it to you sooner because…" She trailed off, her mind suddenly bombarded with the colorful imagery of his life details. "The things in it. How does that help you to begin with?"

"Helps me know I'm right. I am a monster."

"I'll stop you there and correct you. A puppet. Did you read how they called you the asset?"

"Yes, and I assisted in killing over a dozen innocent people." They stared at each other. He leaned his elbows on the table, his gaze fleeting from her and to the file. "It jogs the memories. Clears them. The nightmares were actually, real."

"I was afraid you would leave." She spoke up after a moment. "If I gave you the file you'd have no reason to stay. And I would never know." She leaned back in the chair with a hard sigh, her eyes glossing around the room to the picture still on the floor.

"I guess it would have been easier if we'd helped each other out in the beginning." She looked back to him. They weren't the collective picture of people helped and healed. More like broken. Maybe that part came later.

"I wouldn't call knowing this helping yourself." She disagreed.

"Do you feel helped knowing about your father now." His words finally made her understand, maybe they were in more similar positions than she realized. He surprised her again when he spoke. "I don't have your file. Or your fathers. I swear on my life." He stared at her. "I can tell you anything you want to know, that I remember."

"I think you've done enough." His gaze dropped and she knew she'd have to remind herself not to be so harsh, to try and find some kind of strength her mother had mustered, but, she was tired. She stood. "I know it's not safe for you out there. Like I said, you're here for a reason. You can stay here until its safe again." And then what, she wondered and she could see it in his eyes too. But it was something he had to figure out, free again, and she realized she had to do the same. Silently, she walked out of the room to the kitchen.

There was a cabinet she kept wine in, something she rarely drank with company she rarely had. She'd never gotten drunk before, the closest was her first time drinking, out with her brother.

"I'm going to force you to act 21 for once." He had told her warmly and handed her a drink he refused to name. She had appeared to be a lightweight, they had both agreed to cut her off at two drinks.

She grabbed the three bottles of red wine and stared at them and decided to hell with glasses. As she turned, she noticed Bucky, standing silently. Admittedly, if it were anyone else, she would've felt immensely embarrassed and ashamed…instead she watched him cross the room to her.

"What are you doing," an innocently curious question, lacking any judgement whatsoever, only wanting understanding.

"I'm…going to the roof. I need a drink." He stared silently, before he began nodding.

"Me too." Without really thinking, she handed him one of the bottles and turned, not waiting to see if he followed. He did.


	8. The Rooftop

The roof was empty and breezy, and the horns from the cars below drifted ever so slightly up towards them. She picked a corner and sat down, taking a gulp. Bucky stood a bit away from her, staring out.

"What else were you lied to about," he asked lowly.

"Where can I start?" She muttered darkly, wallowing in her own despair.

"You were an agent, for S.H.I.E.L.D., I know that. Of high rank." She looked up at him. "When I didn't kill you, or Steve, or the Black Widow…they took you hostage." As he pulled the memories from his head, he was already beginning to sound much more aware than she'd ever heard him, capable and observant and intuitive. Like Steve, Bucky was already capable of adapting to the times quite quickly.

"They were keeping you hostage too. You remembered Steve, so they wiped your memory again. The next day, you were supposed to finally kill him, and HYDRA were to win. That night before was when we talked."

"About what?" He turned to glance at her. She stared down at the bottle.

"I told you about Steve. I told you about yourself—your name, your hometown, a mini biography. I told you about me."

"You told me you were an agent?"

"I told you about me. Who I am." Another small drink downed, and she chuckled to herself thoughtfully. "Funnily enough, I never even talked about being agent. Sometimes, I wonder if that's all I ever thought I was. It became my identity. It was just easier to tell you about me because you were a stranger. It's always been easier that way."

"How?"

"Well, strangers, you meet them and they have no prior idea of who you are, only what you tell them. And you could tell lies to them, if you wanted, or the truth. The truth so true you can't even tell your friends. And they don't judge you half the time, because they have no expectations of you. In a way, you can just be who you are."

"At what point do they stop being strangers then?" She didn't answer.

"I guess…until you choose. My strangers tend to remain strangers. I don't have a lot of friends. I have a lot of acquaintances, and a lot of peers, former peers I suppose, but lots of strangers. It helps to not feel lonely."

"Lonely." He whispered the word before he nodded to himself, as though he were an author struggling to find that one best fit infuriating word and had finally found it. Because words and things like that, you could never really find them. They found you. She inspected him a bit longer before she took a longer gulp. When she looked up again, he was watching her.

"I'm trying to get drunk," She explained defensively, almost. He said nothing, only removed the top and sat down.

"How did you get out of there?" He asked, his eyes squinting in confusion. She stared back at him.

"You. They let you out, for your mission. You took out the HYDRA agents and doctor. One of the agents with the key landed near me, enough that I could get the key."

"I wouldn't say that was a conscious effort." He mumbled.

"You were supposed to kill me." He blinked at her. "You pulled Steve from the water. Sure, maybe it was hazy, but you made some decisions that day."

"It happened for a reason—you were never supposed to die. I was. Steve should've killed me." Bellamy only stared, shrugging her shoulders.

"Well, things worked out the way they did for a reason." The words themselves could be taken as soothing, but her tone wasn't.

"Steve was…protecting you. Are you…close?"

"I…suppose. It wasn't always this way…Actually, he didn't like me too much to begin with." Bucky looked up at her in confusion. "He was first called in to work with the Avengers when we met and he didn't trust one damn thing about me."

"Why not?" Bucky asked, looking her up and down with a returned wariness. She shrugged, and realized it was probably better not to be smirking, even out of amusement.

"Do you trust me?" He didn't answer, and she took a sip. "Well, Steve had just woken up. He wasn't sure he liked the way the world was. On top of it, no one knows every secret of S.H.I.E.L.D. The director never told one person everything, sometimes he never told anything at all. Steve doesn't operate that way, as I'm sure you know. And me, well, my grandmother was best friends with one of the founding members—she was an USO girl. My mother was a secretary for S.H.I.E.L.D, and my father was one of their best field agents. My brother believed in it, therefore I believed in it. I put everything into it." Her words had darkened their atmosphere, despite the sky growing a light navy lavender hue.

"…Your brother…"

"…Bronson. He was, um, my twin." Talking now, forced her to take another drink before she could go on. "I was six minutes older—I was supposed to be a boy, actually, so I surprised everyone. The name stayed…my dad called me Bella, though." Bucky glared down. "Bronson and my parents basically got me a job at S.H.I.E.L.D. after the UN, where I helped with response to disasters. With S.H.I.E.L.D., I was a peace ambassador, my brother led the original S.T.R.I.K.E. team." She didn't need to go on, they both knew his fate all too well. The two of them drank in silence, full of grief and guilt. She bit her lip hard. "God…why me." Bucky turned his deeply frowning eyes to her. "Why, what makes me so goddamn special that they had to be taken from me, when they were so much better."

"You just explained it yourself. You were a threat to them." Her breath hitched as she opened her mouth to argue, but she was unable to voice anything and felt her face crumble.

"What were their last words?" Her voice was a whisper. She saw Bucky's jaw clench and he turned away from her.

"Your brother told me to take him, to leave you alone. Your father…he said… 'You'll have to kill me before I ever let you hurt my girl'."

The silence between them was unable to be heard over her soft weeping that took over. Even though she hated it, she couldn't control it, she couldn't even think to realize she hated it.

"What…what else…did you tell me," Bucky's voice was soft, almost afraid. When she looked at him, all she could see was a face conflicted; his eyes flickering between the two of hers and the tears that fell from them. He was uncomfortable at the sight of her lament, likely because she wasn't the only one being hit with realizations—he was the cause for it. With a sniffle, she gave into the bait.

"About what?"

"About you."

"There's not much to me." Her fingers played with the bottle before she drank more.

"You don't like opening up." He said and she focused on him. "But we're strangers, aren't we." It was fair; it was hard trusting someone you didn't know a thing about. She was always on the easy side of the coin, where she knew everything about everyone else. He had to know who he was beginning to trust, that she was worth beginning to trust. After all, she had read his file and claimed to not have it. She knew things about him before he knew it about himself.

"I…suppose." His eyes waited and she sighed, downing her largest drink. The bottle was much lighter now. "I…" It was harder than normal, harder than when she would share tables at a local coffee shop with strangers, like the Uni student from Ghana, or the two paramedics on a coffee break. Maybe it was harder because it was personal. They weren't strangers, there was a deep-rooted history between them she was just barely finding out about. "…You've been after me all my life. Don't you know me?" Her tone was no longer accusing, nor bitter, but curious, albeit darkly. He looked at his hands holding the bottle, frowning.

"I don't even know myself. But you, you're there in the glitches in my memories. For the longest time, I didn't know why. In the museum, I learned about Steve, a little about me. But you were there, in person…I didn't know if you were even real or why you were so engrained. Until I realized…" He sighed. "For the longest time, I looked at you like a target. It would help me if I could teach myself you're—"

"A person?" She suggested. He hesitated, his eyebrows furrowing and apprehension pooling in his eyes.

"I know how it sounds." Bellamy stared off towards the sky, towards the point where it was growing brighter. Maybe it was only hard to try and explain herself because she was at a point in her life, for the first time, where she didn't know.

"I used to do cross country in school. I played the violin, and I took ballet and tap dance classes. None of that mattered, I was also a part of a model UN program and that was my future. I didn't mind it, I didn't entertain…unrealistic thoughts of being anything else."

"Are you sure," he asked lightly. Was she? She tilted her head.

"At that time, yes. I was told I had the body to be a ballerina; long legs and lithe and lean from running. But I didn't want to hear that. Everyone told my brother he was the perfect man—strong sturdy shoulders, above 6'0", hard muscles and sharp mind. He was perfect for his path. Everyone tried to tell me to do different, besides my parents, and Bronson. It didn't bother me anymore when people started nodding their heads in respect." She took a drink, but shrugged. "Now, right now, I wonder if HYDRA would've just let me be if I were dancing on Broadway."

"It always goes back to it." He said. She turned to him.

"What?"

"What you did for a living was your life. Now, it's gone." _And I feel like I'm gone with it_ , she thought instantly, before she snorted, shaking her head defensively.

"No, no, no, of course it's not my entire life, I do more, I _have_ more than that. Of course." Bucky didn't try and argue, it was herself, rather, who did. Their conversation so far had felt the opposite of being helpful, it felt like sitting in a lie detector chair, only in a room with a mirror staring straight at herself. Before, she'd always walked past her reflection without a second thought more than did she look stern enough to be taken seriously. Now, it was more about seeing past her narrowed eyes that she'd never noticed looked so cold. What did she have in her life? Almost nothing, she realized with a sigh and downed more of the deep red liquid, feeling tears beginning to spring from the corner of her eyes.

"…Maybe you're right." She snorted at the painful irony. "You get ambitious and then what. The floor just shatters beneath you and you get buried in all the rubble." Bucky shifted uncomfortably, both his body and his eyes, before he sighed.

"I keep…making you cry." They said nothing. He nudged the other wine bottle in between them. "You can have it." Silently, she took it and opened it.

"I _do_ , do more. I am, more." He didn't try to argue or disagree, just watched her as she fumbled with her own embarrassing human emotion pouring out. "When I had time, I would volunteer my time wherever I could. Most of the time with children, even more so with orphans. They feel a special emptiness in their lives, and yet, their eyes still light up at the simplest things. And, and I…I read." Her mind was a bit foggy now, but she knew it was anticlimactic and sighed at herself, noticing how Bucky's eyes had almost widened. "You don't have to try and act so intrigued, I know I sound pretty pathetic."

"No, no…I…I knew that." She remembered his destruction of her personal bookcase in her room.

"Of course, you saw the books."

"No, no…" He leaned forward, his eyes squinting, his mouth open as he sat, thinking. "You like people, and peace. You called yourself a protector of peace." She said nothing in surprise, and he kept going, uncertain again as recognition grew in his eyes. "You don't like chaos. You like to read. That was what you told me at that bank." She nodded slowly. "You said, you said that the world was meant to be peaceful enough to sit on a balcony and read…" She snickered.

"And you told me I was in the wrong profession." He snickered now, his eyes gleamed in a certain relief as he finally remembered the memory in full.

"And you said, 'I never said I was the one reading. But I do, like to read.'" He chuckled, nodding slightly to himself before the gleam disappeared and his lips turned down. The nodding turned to shaking. "You shouldn't have been in there." Bellamy lifted her head from examining the bottle to him. Finally, she said,

"Neither should you." He looked up at her. "You know, it would help me too. If I knew more than what a file told me about you." He swallowed, before he snickered, bitter realization coloring his eyes darker.

"Because, when you look at me you see a monster? That is what I am. It doesn't matter who I once was."

"Yes, it does." She suggested. "How else can you move forward if you don't realize every part of you?" He didn't speak. "…It would help me a lot in moving on too, to try and…forgive."

"You shouldn't forgive me." He disagreed and took a drink.

"You're not a monster." His eyes, empty, stared at nothing in front of him so intently she didn't want to know what he was seeing.

"Tell me that when you believe it."

"What was it like back then?" She decided a different route. "I enjoy history. But I didn't live in that time."

"You're asking the wrong person. I don't really remember."

"There are some things you can't forget." She insisted. It appeared that he was trying, maybe searching for something but didn't know what to look for. Instead of looking at her, he turned his head towards the sun.

"…That's what you would think." It was growing brighter, sunrise had finally come. Bellamy leaned her head back against the wall that enclosed them on the roof. Their silence now sounded worn out, but it was easy to instead focus on the whisper of the air around them. Until his voice filled it.

"It was…different. Easier, in some ways…no, maybe just, simpler. I don't remember much more than that." Bellamy's eyes shut.

"It's a start." Her grip on the bottle had loosened, but she didn't hear it slip from her hand completely and shatter as it fell on the ground next to her.


	9. It's A Start

"It's a start." Her words were soft. Bucky waited to hear more, but only heard the sound of breaking glass and started, jerking back around to look at her, assuming the worst. Her body was slumped against the wall, her eyes shut with a deep red liquid pool forming around her. His mind played a game against him and again, he'd assumed the worst as he ducked low underneath the cover of the wall, out of sight of anyone that could see him. He checked her body for some kind of wound from a gunshot, he knew what to look for, because the crimson pool around her wasn't clicking right in his head. His breath short, he stared down at her, unconscious and slumped, and his mind saw what it wanted.

His eye caught sight of his metal hand, gleaming from the sun, and it actually brought him back to reality, a harsh one as he realized there was no danger around them. The only danger she was ever in was from him, standing before her, the only thing that had ever threatened to bring her harm. It was true, confirmed by her still black eye he always tried to ignore when looking at her. Something else caught his eye, the broken bottle of wine she'd let fall from her fingers not too far away.

Bucky let out a breath, shaking his head in disgust. She'd passed out, from drinking, from exhaustion, he didn't know, but he had to remind himself of the fact to try and calm down. He sat beside her and focused on her torso, watching it ever so faintly rise and fall. It calmed him, more than he realized, until he noticed he was breathing normal.

The wine had soaked into her white shirt and began to stain the concrete of the roof. She wasn't stirring and Bucky realized he couldn't let them stay out here, no longer covered underneath dawn. His hand hesitated in front of her face, trying to figure out a way to wake her, but it seemed too…unfair. He'd been unfair to her, to say the least, most of her life.

His eyes focused away from her and to his hand, his normal one, the one he could look at and tell himself he was once someone else. Destruction and unknown were his right and left, one cold and one warm. So much damage had been caused by the metal left, the right hand didn't matter. But he stared at it now and realized maybe destruction didn't have to be the majority of his work.

As lightly as he could, he moved his right hand underneath her shoulder, sliding to the middle of her back and pressing as firmly and gently as he could. With his other, he tried to be almost a nonexistent presence as he slid his arm underneath her knees, and lifted. Her shirt was in fact wet from the spilled wine, and he glanced over his shoulder at the scene they left behind them as he carried her back down the stairwell.

Her body felt so light in his arms and he tried his best to balance her in a way that her head wasn't tipping backwards in an uncomfortable manner. He froze as she stirred and mumbled,

"I'm sorry," he immediately blurted out, but her eyes never opened. She only adjusted in his arms with her head now resting against his chest. Out again. Standing still, he could feel his heart pounding.

It was cruel to think she'd been his target, surreal as he felt her in his arms. So defenseless, borderline fragile. Her face now, as he looked at her, at peace. The stern lines always on her face were smoothed away, and her resting face didn't include a frown. The tears she'd cried all morning were gone, and left her eyelids puffy.

She'd been nothing but fair to him in their brief time together. Everything she did, fair. Even the lies she told him, the times she tried to make herself sound forgiving and compassionate. He didn't buy it, he didn't deserve it. But she tried. She was hurt, but she tried and he didn't deserve the way she tried to mask her resentment towards him with mercy.

Back in her apartment he hesitated, looking for a place to put her. He occupied the loveseat, the rest of the furniture was broken. Of course, he realized, she belonged in her bed, where she could finally perhaps rest. But, again, he remembered her soaked shirt. There wasn't much he could do.

At her bed, he pulled the covers back, crisp and clean white sheets, and hesitated at the sight of them. Quickly, still with her in his arms, he walked back to the bathroom and retrieved a long towel and brought it back to spread on the bed, before he finally placed her down on top of it. There she rested, still unmoving. He stared at her for a moment, before his fingers grabbed the sheets and pulled them up to her neck. He stared a second more, trying to swallow but feeling it get stuck in his throat.

"I'm…I'm sorry." He whispered to her unmoving body. He stayed a second more, before he left the room and cracked the door behind him.

Back in the living room, he gazed around, considering sleeping too. But he passed the broken chair, and the painting broken on the ground next to the broken lamp. He couldn't sleep.


	10. The Agreement

_**A/N: Thanks for the review, Adalise! As for what I plan on doing with the two of them, that will continue to be revealed..**_

Everything was fuzzy when Bellamy awoke. Her eyelids had a mind of their own and didn't want to open, and she came to almost dazed. Her head was the fuzziest, and she couldn't figure out why she didn't remember anything recent. Her frown deepened when she felt textured thick cotton underneath her arm—a towel, she discovered—rather than thin smooth bedsheets. Her shoes were still on.

Bellamy sat up, her stomach turning uncomfortably, until, slowly, her memory began to dwindle back. It came like rewinding; drinking on the roof, conversation, and then the weight of the new knowledge she held. But that was it. There was no memory of how she got back in her bed. Bellamy kept trying to remember, her mind considering the possibility that maybe…but no. That didn't make sense.

It didn't make sense, she insisted to herself, but maybe…maybe it was him. It was either him, Bucky, who had taken her to bed, or she herself somehow had made it on her own. Her mind wasn't her friend in settling the matter, so she got up, only to realize the sun was beginning to set. She'd slept all day.

Her door was cracked, and she opened it quietly and peered out. Down the short hallway, there was only stillness.

"James?" She called, electing to speak rather than move.

"Here." His calm voice answered. Bellamy rounded the corner and saw him, sitting at the dining table with his file opened, his chin sitting on his fist. Only when she was close enough did he look up. They stared at each other. It felt different. Without hatred. Bellamy was reminded of sharing the same look with Steve, once they began to understand they were more alike than they realized. They were two people, looking at each other as such.

It was either speak of the files he'd peeled his eyes away from, or her momentarily lost memory, and she went with the latter.

"I don't remember getting to bed," she began after clearing her throat, and even still, she avoided his gaze, unable to come outright and ask.

"You passed out. That happens to you a lot." A frown grew on her face immediately with indignation, and she opened her mouth only to stop short. "I carried you back down, to your bed."

"…Oh. Well, if we're being honest, I've only blacked out so many times because…" His eyes were waiting for her to go on, they both knew where she was going but, she couldn't. "It's, uh…been a few crazy days—I'm not really used to this kind of thing…I mean, this last was self-induced blackout, at least." She held her breath and bit her tongue, her face crinkling as she continued to dig such an unnecessary hole. "Uh…why was there a towel in my bed?"

"Your shirt got stained from the wine. I didn't want it to stain your bed too." At his words, she looked down to her shirt, crisp white muddled with red, understanding now. It caught her off guard, the simplicity of the nice gesture. He looked back down to the file when she didn't reply, frowning more as if he had did something wrong. Silently, she walked closer and took the chair across from him.

"Thank you." She told him sincerely, waiting until he looked up. When he did, the extra lines in his forehead smoothed. His eyes glanced back down to the documents before going back to her. He was the one that brought the topic up, as if he felt like he needed to defend himself.

"I just…" His eyes were liquid and shining at the same time, like the ocean at night as it reflected the sky and the constellations above. "It's not that I want to know…but I need to."

"But you're letting it torture you. Consume you." He still said nothing, did nothing, his face sour and pained, tense with a weight she knew of, but couldn't hold. "I had a feeling that…the last thing this would do was help you."

"Does it help you any, knowing about your father now?" She felt a small twinge of defiance flash through her.

"I _deserved_ to know."

"And I don't?"

"I, I didn't say that. It's different; you think it's your fault, what happened."

"And you don't?" They had come to a standstill, caused by his words, his oh so very right words. That was another thing she hated—being wrong—but there was no way she could even argue. Finally, she leaned back in her chair, letting out a sigh and easing the tension in her shoulders.

"Maybe we're both wrong, then." He wouldn't meet her gaze, but she stared despite the fact. He began blinking more, his face slowly shattering like cracks in a mirror lengthening until he shut his eyes and did his best to compose himself. His eyes opened again.

"I just want to be me. I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't want to be that." He closed the file shut and pushed it away from himself in disgust.

"You don't have to be that. I told you before, you have a choice. At any point in your life you can start over. You can redeem yourself—"

"Redeem myself." He mocked with a curt low laugh. She flinched as his chair squealed against the wood of the floor as he shot up, shaking his head sharply and pacing back and forth. "Goddammit, Bellamy, I don't understand you." Her name in his voice was a new sound that only made the moment more poignant. "I don't understand how you can just turn a blind eye to it all, all of those things I did, the blood all over my damn hands; I took your family away from you, don't you even mind? I can't just _redeem_ all of that, I can't redeemany of it." She swallowed and took a slow breath.

"Look, you and I both know you're not the same man you once were back in 1945…Let's not pretend you didn't do the things you did." He'd been standing by the window of the kitchen, looking out. He allowed his eyes to flit to hers now. "But that's not the point. It's a good thing that you realize where you stand with yourself. That you want to figure yourself out. Because, really Bucky, right now is the most important thing to keep focused on. It's important to remember your values and the things you once believed in…but just because I call you Bucky doesn't mean you're the same person you once were."

"I told you," He said, his tone suggesting he was already disagreeing with her words. "I don't remember everything from back then."

"Maybe it will come back to you, now that you have the chance to remember." His eyes were downcast. "And if it doesn't then…you can figure out what you believe for yourself. You can do that now. I mean the past it's…it's there, but…but the now is what matters right?" He was silent, but his attention was on her. Even still, her words weren't only meant for him; Bellamy realized she was talking to herself too. "My father always used to tell me I lived in the future. Because I was always busy and planning ahead. I told him I had to, I didn't have time to stop and smell the roses. He said one day…I would. And I'd understand finally how important the present is."

Bucky watched her stand and join him to look out the window. With her eyes focused on the buildings, studying the old architecture, she spoke.

"Apologizing and letting things go is what helps you move on. Dwelling on the past is what keeps you stuck." Fitting, really, that she found herself stuck now at the moment, trying to continue on with her words. It was hard to get it out, like peeling at a Band-Aid, but she hoped the relief would be just the same and as instant as ripping one off. "I'm sorry that I didn't give you your files. I'm sorry I kept that from you, because I didn't understand your position. And I am sorry you were put through the things you were put through." It was easy to keep going once she had stated. When she looked at him, his eyes were raised, but they darted away as they met each other.

She wasn't sure if she was expecting his relief to morph into hers, or if she would somehow receive her own inner relief. It ended up being the latter. For once in her life, saying sorry seemed to actually pay off, like everyone always said.

"When you were asleep…" He spoke softly only when she turned her back to walk back to the dining table, and she paused now to listen. "I told you that I was sorry. Because I couldn't do it when you were awake. I mean…" He snorted. "What good will an apology do. It'll never be enough, it'll never sound like I mean it."

"Do you," she asked calmly as she leaned now against the table. He swallowed.

"Yes." And with that, she suddenly started to feel not only relief from herself, but from James too. She had assumed it would only be one or the other, not that it would feel this alleviating.

"I…accept your apology." Speaking only seemed to unlock more of the distinct kind of lightness, filtering out from somewhere inside her, brightening the dark. Bucky only stared at her with disagreeing eyes. "I know you're not the same man, you're not just some machine, not anymore. Expressing remorse and apologizing, you want to take that path of redemption. Don't you? You want to figure yourself out right?"

"I don't know if I can redeem me—"

"Do you want to move on, to find yourself?" He hesitated, his mouth halfway open but his words growing shy and retreating.

"I…I want to." He murmured, a bit dejected and half-hearted.

"Will you try?" Her question wasn't one expecting a normal answer, but expecting an pledge of some sort, she was sure he knew that. It was made better to see him nodding.

"...Yes." His words confirmed it. She started to nod too.

"Me too." She tried to smile, but it felt forced and he didn't see anyways. She had to force herself to move and check the fridge as well, looking for any type of breakfast food, but the effort was in vain. The eggs and bacon were all gone, but, there was plenty of milk.

"I guess its Honey Nut Cheerios today." Bellamy realized, glancing over her shoulder. "Is that okay? Cereal?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine." Slow moving limbs brought him back to sit at the table, where she brought them their quick breakfast. While she was pouring her milk, he stared down at his empty bowl, still.

"Do you..." she stopped pouring as he spoke and he swallowed, disrupting his stillness. "Do you really believe I'm worth forgiveness?" Her eyebrows began to pull down at his question, and she decided to wait for him to go on. "Steve was right about one thing." It wasn't much of an explanation.

"What do you mean, are you saying you don't trust me?"

"I don't know." He leaned backwards, undecided and crossing his arms. "I'm not always sure when you tell the truth. Sometimes I knew you were lying, but other times...I would never know."

"Sometimes I believed the things I told you over the past few days. Sometimes I didn't. But I do believe you're worth forgiving." He wasn't convinced, but then, she wasn't certain if he ever would be. "And from this day forward I'll always be honest with you, you have my word—as long as you can be honest with me too." He stared down at his bowl still before he looked up at her and nodded in agreement.

"Okay." Her lips formed a small smile this time easier, without having to try, and he saw it this time too. He blinked, almost appearing flustered, and suddenly reached out hastily for the cereal, nearly knocking his spoon off the table, though Bellamy pretended she didn't see. In silence, she began to eat, but for the first time the silence was still. Calm. Not exactly comfortable, but bearable.

"Can I ask you something else?" He asked, holding the spoon of what would've been his first bite before putting it back down.

"Sure." She agreed.

"You started off only calling me James. Sometimes, you'll call me Bucky. Why?"

"Oh." Her spoon chased a Cheerio. "Well, James is your name, and I felt that I didn't know you well enough to call you Bucky, but I know it's what you went by. I don't know…" his head was still tilting in question. "What would you prefer I call you?" He readjusted himself in the chair.

"Just call me what you want." That was harder.

"But what do you _want_ me to call you?" He took a moment, appearing to be thoughtful, but had to speak to seemingly get his thoughts straight.

"James is my name." He frowned delicately. "But none of my friends ever called me that. My parents didn't either. But Bucky…I don't know if that really fits me anymore."

"You can still be you." He was already shaking his head, but she stopped him. "Not the _old_ you. Just _you_ …you just have to find out what exactly that means." Instead of disagreeing, he began frowning more, as if somehow what she'd suggested was worse, harder—maybe it was. Gently, she put her spoon down. "Hey, listen." He blinked, and focused in on her. "You're more than just a file from yesterday, Bucky."

A long moment passed and he was still, before his eyebrows began to relax, his eyes growing rounder. Peaceful. He ducked his head, turning his gaze downward and away—she swore his cheeks were looking warmer. Suddenly, he didn't look so cold and pale anymore. His hand raised to reach for his spoon, as if he could finally eat, no longer quite as troubled.

That day and the days that followed, Bucky had begun to busy himself with fixing her old apartment. It started with her grandmother's armchair, when he had caught her rubbing the broken wooden arm of it, forlorn.

"You can fix it, you know." She looked over at him, and he gestured to the arm of it, moving closer to kneel down and inspect it. "…I'm, uh, sorry." He murmured as if the damage was worse than he realized, turning his head slightly to look at her without fixing his eyes on her completely.

"It was my grandmother's." She wasn't sure why she had to tell him, it was a petty thing to do and she didn't like the consequence of him looking down at the ground in guilt.

Leaky faucets, the odd hum of the refrigerator, old toilets, the draft from her bedroom window—all things she had gotten used to just ignoring. She wasn't sure if he had always been a handyman, when she had asked he had only told her men in his time were expected to be the foundation, to know all the answers. Nothing too personal.

Bellamy didn't stop him from helping in his own way, even if she was certain it was partly out of guilt. It seemed to ease his mind, and he was familiar with the aged objects. Even when it took longer to figure out, he never got frustrated, he simply worked his way around it. She helped where she could, waiting close by for him to tell her something to do, and she'd oblige, but mainly, it was a solitary job. He never stopped startling her with his intelligence.

One day, as he worked in her bathroom on the stubborn showerhead, she stepped out to her balcony to make a phone call.

" _Bellamy_ ," Her mother's voice greeted her warmly, trilling in unexpected delight. " _I added your number to my contacts after you called. I hoped it was one I could continue to expect. I never could before, it was always a different number._ "

"Yes…well, you can expect more calls from me from this number from now on. More often." It felt good to add, and she smiled as her mother laughed.

" _How are you doing, dear_?" Her voice softened. " _Are you doing okay_?"

"I'm better, actually. I think I just needed a couple nights of sleep and time. I'm sure it'll get easier. Eventually."

" _You know you can always come visit Ellie and I_." Ellie, her old black Labrador she'd been forced to give up, lacking the time to care for a puppy. She'd only gotten it because she was alone so much, until she realized she'd always be too busy for things like a pet. " _I'm only an hour's drive away_."

"I promise I will, someday soon." It was enough to satisfy her mother.

" _Sounds like a wonderful plan_."

"Actually, the reason I called was to ask you for Grandma's apple pie recipe."

" _Ah, yes. Old comfort? That was always your favorite_."

"Yes. It's been a long time since I've had it." Her mother paused, and Bellamy hoped her mother wasn't about to ask her to just come over so they could make it together. She just couldn't, not yet.

" _I'll send you the recipe and ingredients. Let me know how it turns out, okay_?"

"Okay, mom. Thank you." Her voice was mellow once more, relieved.

When she walked back inside, Bucky was standing in the kitchen. He glanced down at the phone in her hand.

"It was my mother." For some reason she explained, not that she felt the urge to. He nodded once.

"I wasn't listening."

"I know." Her eyes scanned the area. "Um…I have to make a quick run for groceries." He stared at her, and she wasn't sure how to go on. Did she invite him? Despite knowing he had to lay low still, a couple of hours out—especially with someone good at hiding in plain sight—would be accomplishable. It somehow didn't feel right leaving him there, alone. Would he leave? Would he follow her anyways?

"I'll be here." He told her, nodding once. "I won't mess with your things anymore, if that's what you're worried about."

"No, no. Um…okay. Well, I won't be gone for long."

"If you want," she stopped in her tracks as he spoke up. "You can get a few things and I can fix the armchair. Maybe even that bookcase." Again, they stared at each other and he looked down before mumbling, "S'least I can do."

"Yeah. Yes, of course, just tell me what you need and I'll get it."


	11. Grandma's Apple Pie

"I'm back," Bellamy called as she walked in with an armful of brown bagged groceries and shut the door behind her with her hip. It was a mistake she didn't know she was making. Bucky had been peacefully sleeping on the couch, only to jump awake at the noise, sitting halfway up with frantic eyes, breathing hard. "Bucky, it's me," she tried quickly but he was still looking around wildly.

She couldn't put the bags down fast enough and ended up dropping one entirely as she rushed to the couch.

"No, no—don't! Get away!" He shouted, looking right at her but not seeing her, and jumping to his feet, swinging his metal arm, which she had to try and grab to avoid getting hit with. The force of it swept her off her feet backwards, but she clung on, getting dragged back in front of him.

"Bucky! Bucky, you're safe. Hey!" She had to latch onto his shoulders tightly, and then his face to make him look directly at her. "Bucky, listen to my voice and breathe. You're safe. You're safe. Breathe." His eyes were still burning vividly, unhinged, he was still panting, but he held her eyes. His breathing slowed. Finally he took in one breath and shut his eyes, ducking away from her to sit back down on the love-seat.

"I can't sleep." He mumbled with his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry," she told him, catching her own breath. "It was my fault."

"No. It was just me. Again." His head remained buried. Without knowing what to do, she walked back over to the bags, her legs shaking.

"It's gonna take time." She told him, them, as she picked up the spilled contents. It still scared her every single time, his outbursts.

"How long? The rest of my life? What if I'm never okay again?" Bellamy swallowed as she stared down at the soft bag of brown sugar and pack of meat on the ground and sighed as she sat down, there behind the love-seat.

How long? It was all she could think about too. How long until she could wake up and not feel like it was some horrible mistake that she was able to wake up and live her life? But, she knew for certain one day she would be at peace. Bucky didn't know for certain, hell, she didn't know for certain, so how could she tell him any different? Maybe somehow he did have it worse.

"I don't know," she told him with a soft sigh. "I think, maybe to help, it's all about distractions to pass the time. And pretending, maybe. As far as first steps go, anyways."

"I thought you said I shouldn't pretend I didn't do the things I did."

"No, I mean, you've heard of that one phrase 'fake it 'til you make it'? If you tell yourself something—that you're going to be okay, for instance—you keep telling yourself until you are one day." He didn't reply. The lack of one made her words suddenly sound very foolish. "I don't know, honestly. I'm not a psychiatrist. I'm sorry that I can't help you more."

"You're doing more than you need to for me. Don't apologize to me." Bellamy held the bag of brown sugar in her hands, balancing the weight of it between them.

"In the beginning, I didn't necessarily mean it when I said I could help you. But I can now, if you let me. The best I can do, anyways."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because, it's my only way out. I can't go backwards and hate you, especially not after what I know now, who's really responsible. What am I to gain from holding a grudge against you?" He was mute, but she hoped he was listening. "I'm going through something similar as you, Bucky. A new journey, from the bottom up. You're here, we're stuck here. Why not?" He didn't reply again. "I'm trying this new thing where I don't think too much of anything. And I pretend it's easier than it actually is. I'm starting with stuffing myself full of my grandmother's apple pie. Do you like apple?" He sighed, but the sigh turned into a quiet and small snort, before the floor creaked and he stood. She looked up at him as he stepped around the love-seat towards her, picking up the grocery bag beside her. He eyed her as she stood up on her own.

"…Sure. Are you making it now?" She nodded, and he nodded back. Maybe she was leading by example at times when he didn't know what to do. "Did you get the things to fix the armchair? I can do that in the meantime."

"Actually, I was wondering if you could help me. With the pie." He was startled, clearly not thinking he was at a position to disagree, but was still at a loss.

"I, uh…well. If you want me to, but. I've never actually baked anything." Bellamy smiled sheepishly and hid it by turning her back to unpack the groceries.

"Me neither. That's why I'm asking. Maybe two wrongs make a right, eh?" She asked, with a glance to him and noticed his lips twitch.

"I don't think that's how that saying goes."

"Well, I think we can do it. How hard can a pie be?"

Apparently, very hard; her superiority actually came back to bite her. She read off instructions, sometimes twice as they tried to figure out simple things that should've been simple—mounding apples, for instance, onto the bottom crust, or making a the lattice crust on top. Bucky mainly tried to stay back, watching her instead, but helped when her hands were messy. If she asked what he thought, he would only say "Your guess is better than mine," though she didn't miss the way he sometimes eyed her actions skeptically.

"It smells right. That's a good sign, huh?" She asked after it was in the oven and her apartment suddenly smelled like warm cinnamon dappled Granny Smiths. Bucky nodded, but his eyes were far away.

"My…mom used to bake a lot. My dad's favorite was apple, and she would make it every fall, with my sisters' help." Bellamy felt herself smiling. Maybe this was some kind of aromatherapy, jogging some long embedded memories from his mind. She was aware of how powerful the five senses were, but had yet to really understand it until now as she watched his eyes flicker like the warm glow of a candle.

"Was it your favorite too?" Bellamy pressed lightly. Bucky frowned a bit, before he chuckled, looking down at his worn shoes.

"It's actually coming back to me now; I hate apple." She started, before she guffawed, unable to contain it. He chuckled again. "I had too much once, got sick. Scarred me enough for me to remember, I guess." She laughed outright again.

"Well. Damn."

Bucky stood close enough to watch but far enough away as she removed the pie from the oven, unable to wait to cut into it as she placed it on the counter. She froze—next to the cooling pie was the sugar, brown and white, untouched and unopened in their bags.

"Bucky…" she began, unable to take her eyes away before glancing at the pie. "Did we forget the sugar?" He snorted, and she bit her lip, but couldn't stop herself from smiling.

They soon found out there were several things wrong with the pie. It hadn't baked long enough, which left the crust doughy and the apples hard. The missing sugar of course was the main thing—Bellamy had apparently been much too focused on not allowing herself to forget the cinnamon.

"Maybe it was a blessing in disguise." She sighed, with a shake of her head, down at the disastrous creation.

"You're not going to try it?" Bucky asked, and she sent him a look.

"Are you?" He shrugged.

"I think we owe it that." Almost with reluctance, she cut them two slices and took a bite, not before shaking her head in disbelief. It wasn't anything she didn't expect it to be, she had already guessed what it was going to taste like and had been right; it was disgusting. She put her plate down with a face, eyeing Bucky he stood across from her, chewing thoughtfully. Finally he swallowed and she raised an eyebrow.

"That's horrible." He said, and she laughed. He chuckled and put the plate down. "I mean, it's only because I don't like apple."

"I thought we agreed on honesty, Barnes." He raised his eyes.

"It's the missing sugar, then." She rolled her eyes.

"Sure, sure. I'll spare you now and try to make a decent dinner. Please tell me you don't hate spaghetti, or should we just stick to cereal again?"

"No, no. Whatever you cook is fine." He began inching backwards, out of the kitchen. Understandably so. "I can try to fix the chair now." He had everything he needed, and they both worked doing separate things. Tonight, it was wood glue and spaghetti. As she cooked, she would watch him when she was certain he couldn't see her stares.

Their prior conversation almost felt imagined, it was unlike any talk she'd had with him before. The lighthearted chatter and scattered laughter was something, now that she had recently experienced it, felt that she had taken for granted. It was almost like unlocking an achievement, seeing Bucky in that state. She only ever saw him suffering, or in a state where he wasn't in control. With light ease, she cleared her throat to prepare him for her incoming question.

"So, you had sisters?" He did, she knew that, but she hoped he would remember and be able to tell her more than what she could read in a file.

"I did. I had three, I think." Bellamy grimaced down at the noodles boiling at his uncertainty. "I was the oldest. I don't know what happened to them." The question wasn't the best, she realized only after she was unable to take it back. He had paused his work when she glanced over her shoulder to check on his state. "I hope they lived nice lives." She decided not to say anything more.

"Are you and your grandmother close?" It was him who spoke next after a long moment.

"Were. She liked to antique shop. When I first told her I got my own place, she took me to her favorite shops and we picked out a lot of things."

"I'm sorry." It was like they were both striking out with the questions.

"Don't be, she's at peace now."

"All of these things meant a lot to you, and I just came in and ruined them. It was a bad idea, bringing me here."

"Stop doing that." She told him with mild sternness as she reached into the cabinet to grab plates.

"Doing what?"

"Torturing yourself. I chose to bring you here. It's not your fault, how you react. Plus, I'd say my place is on its way to being in better shape than before you came."

"It's a good outlet, fixing everything. I feel like I'm finally doing some good. Being helpful."

"You are. I was just, never here before. I neglected everything." He stood, entering her view again and brushing his hands.

"It should be good to go now, just needs a few days to dry."

"Thank you. Dinner's ready now, too."

Eating with people never really bothered her before, and it never bothered her, eating with Bucky before. But now, in that moment, it felt like something needed to be said. Behind him, she could see the armchair. To her genuine surprise, it looked good as new. No one would be able to tell what had ever happened to it.

"The chair looks fantastic, Bucky. I can't believe you fixed it." He was caught off guard by her praise, and she too wasn't expecting the warmth that came from her voice. She never realized how much that chair meant to her. Brushing the back of his hand against his mouth, he glanced over his shoulder to look too, or maybe he just wanted to look away from her; she hadn't missed the look of surprise colored doubt in his eyes. It was as if every good thing she told him he still couldn't believe, still had to question.

"Oh. Yeah. Glad I could." Back down his eyes went to the food. His throat cleared. "This is really good, too."

"Better than the pie?" She questioned, wearing a half-smile, and he chuckled.

"Yeah….um, thank you." The confusion must have been obvious in her eyes. "For cooking." It was the first time he'd ever done so.

"Oh—of course." They continued dinner. Nothing had to be said anymore.

Bucky lingered as she washed dishes. He reminded her of a shy new student, not quite sure what they were supposed to be doing, or how they were supposed to be acting.

"It's okay, I've got it." Bellamy reassured him, and tacked on a small smile to try and make him believe it. He hesitated, before he retreated back into the living room, where he began to examine the broken bookcase, likely his next project.

"I know you don't like to, but you need your rest." She told him as she finished and dried her hands on a kitchen towel, watching him by the bookcase. "You should try to, at least."

"Maybe." He concurred, but didn't take his eyes away from his work.

"I'm going to sleep. Goodnight, Bucky." Finally, he glanced her way.

"Goodnight."

"Don't work too hard." His glance this time was accompanied with nothing.

Inside her room, her door remained unlocked. Her gun remained put away, in her nightstand drawer. She slid in between her sheets with ease, and when she let her hair loose from its tight ponytail, she felt herself come undone completely, and out came a light sigh from the events that had made the day feel so long, but in a good way.

For the first time in a long time she felt truly, genuinely, at ease. Her phone began to buzz beside her, and she read the caller ID. Mom. It increased the light feeling inside her.

"Hi, mom. Is everything alright?"

" _Hello, dear. Oh, fine, fine. I was actually wondering how the pie went? I haven't had it in quite some time too, was it as good as I remembered_?" Bellamy chuckled and ran a hand through her hair.

"It was great, mom. Better than I thought it would go."

" _So you didn't have any trouble_?"

"Oh, I certainly did. But I think it was for the better, in the end."

" _Well, it's all a learning experience, I suppose. I remember it took me years to finally get it_." Bellamy hummed an agreement under her breath. " _Alright, I'll let you sleep. I just wanted to check in_."

"Okay. Goodnight, mom." She paused before she allowed herself to smile gently. "I love you."

" _I love you more, Bella."_ Her mother's voice was melodic, lovely and loving. _"So much. Goodnight_." Bellamy hung up and fell back against the pillow with the same gentle smile. How foolish was she to forget a mother's unconditional love, the feeling of such a powerful warm love. Naturally, her next thought was of a father. Her father. And she found her eyes watering, her smile wavering.

Upwards at the ceiling her eyes stared, imagining the night sky behind it and the constellations in it, sparkling next to the moon with her shining light overpowering any and all of the lights of New York, of the world. With the picture painted, it was easier to feel a bit calmer again.

"I love you, dad." She whispered as she dabbed her index finger to her eye. "I love you, Bronson." Now, finally, she reached up to turn out her light and curled up on her side.

The bookcase with its missing chunk had been no problem for Bucky to fix, finished in a day's work. Actually, he had begun to run out of things to fix. At night, he still had trouble sleeping. It was hard to check on him because he never slept, but when she snuck out to take a peek, she'd mainly just find him wide-eyed, resting and staring up at the ceiling, either awake with torture or staying awake to keep himself away from the torture.

One night, she awoke sometime after midnight but sometime before dawn. Her sleep schedule was chaotic now, not orderly as it used to be. Her door was open, and out farther in the living room, Bucky's sounds brought her even more out of her sleepy state. Not by his cries of pain this time, but rather, the sound of movement. There were noises of shuffling in a box. She stumbled out of bed and yawned as she walked into the living room.

There he was on the floor, sorting through the box of vinyl records Steve had given her long ago, when he drew her name for a new "Operation," called the Secret Santa initiative, brought to fruition by one of the level one agents who thought it would help make Steve feel more at home with S.H.I.E.L.D. Really, it kind of seemed pointless; it wasn't like Steve didn't know what Christmas was. If anything, it had backfired, since Steve—still not liking her very much at that point and only tolerating her because they worked for the same side-had drew her name. The record player, another antique, was the saving grace. As soon as Steve caught wind that she was in possession of one, information he had gained through a very helpful Phil Coulson, he had stopped being apathetically polite and looked at her a bit differently, like there was a chance she were normal and maybe more relatable to him than he thought.

At Christmas, he gave her an entire box of records he once owned, telling her his personal favorites were on top. She'd meant to organize them but they had instead remained to their fate in the box. She'd never even touched the record player. Ironically enough, or perhaps not, the records that had been on top were the ones Bucky had placed out on the floor in front of him, in a carefully assorted line.

"What are you doing?" She asked, making him jump. He looked at her warily.

"I didn't hear you."

"I _was_ an agent. Can't sleep?"

"I tried. It didn't work. But I saw these." He glanced up at her. "I hope you don't mind." She shook her head.

"Do you recognize them?" She gestured to the ones he had laid out.

"Yeah." He answered her, his tone cautious with the most tentative delight. "I do, actually. Really, it's the first familiar thing I've seen. Really familiar…childhood kind of familiar." His eyes were brighter too as he went back to looking at the ones in the row. She watched him for a moment, her interest peaking and wants consisting of seeing him smile over something.

"What makes them so familiar?" She asked, hoping this wouldn't make him grow gray with uncertainty he often encountered. He looked over at her, his eyes clouding a bit, and she wondered if maybe she shouldn't have bothered asking. His head tilted to the side thoughtfully, however, and she grew hopeful.

"It's all stuff that I grew up listening to. I can hear the songs in my head, and it just, I don't know. Takes me back. I think I do remember a bit about back then, it's there, but…I don't get to choose what I remember. But this, I do. And the movies," he laughed a bit, a breathy chuckle, and she smiled instantly at the sound. "Steve and I, we were the biggest movie fans, we'd go all the time. The day I got my orders, we were supposed to see a movie...and I found him getting beat up in an alley." She looked up, her eyes moving from the vinyl records to Bucky in concern at his stopping point. He was frowning, his eyes dark. "I always protected him."

"Sounds like a great friend to me." She complimented him in an effort to try and keep him here. It was apparent where his mind was heading.

"I _was_." He murmured sorrowfully. "I nearly killed him."

"But you didn't."

He groaned, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. I nearly did."

"You didn't. You pulled through. Like he knew you would. He hasn't given up on you, Bucky. Probably never will." He looked at her carefully, as if he weren't sure if he believed her. "Can I sit with you?" Despite all the space, he scooted further away before nodding. "Sounds to me like Steve was a handful."

"He really was. Always picking up a fight with people twice his size, sometimes twice my size. Steve lost both his parents, he was an orphan. I worried about him more, and he needed me sometimes but…he always just insisted he could do it on his own."

"He's stubborn." She agreed. He nodded, but that appeared to be all he was going to say on the matter. She was about to excuse herself to go back to bed and leave him to himself when he spoke faintly.

"…What day is it?" It took her a second longer than it should have to figure it out.

"Tuesday." He nodded, but she was distracted suddenly. "Tuesday…you know, every Tuesday, I used to have a very set routine. I would go to the same coffee shop down the street, Susanna's Café, right when they opened every morning, at 6. I would meet this lovely elderly couple—Mr. and Mrs. McGrath. They've been together for 52 years." Bucky's eyebrows raised. "They found out I lived alone. Worried about me. I told them, lied, that I took self-defense classes. Mr. McGrath told me, 'what about that lonely spot in your heart?'"

"What did you tell him," he asked, turning his body a little bit more to face her.

"I said I worked a lot. Of course. But, every Thanksgiving, they brought me a plate. From their family to me, they would always say—Mr. McGrath was always quite proud of his deep-fried turkey. Every Christmas, they would bring me a gift, usually a book. Every Valentine's Day…" She chuckled, smiling. "I would get a fresh red rose and homemade fudge." When she looked back to him, remembering his presence, he had a small smile, and she stared for a second in wonder. It was a new sight, a pure one, a simple one. Their eyes connected, and it began to fail.

"What happened to them?"

"I just, stopped going." She looked away, ashamed, studying the box instead. "I didn't have the time."

"Well, maybe you should go." She looked at him blankly. "It's Tuesday. I'm sure they'll be there." It was reasonable logic.

"Maybe so." She searched his eyes as he looked down. Bellamy knew what she was about to say, but still had to prepare herself to speak. He had the right to say no, and she considered not going on, but the way his eyes were drying prompted her, pushed her, to say, "Maybe you can come." His eyes widened as if he couldn't even comprehend her suggestion.

"At, at a coffee shop? I can't be out in public."

"You can hide in plain sight. No one will recognize you."

"No. That's not the problem. I can't just, I can't trust myself around innocent people. If something sets me off, I don't know what will happen. I can't hurt any more people."

"I would never ask you if I didn't think you could do it, Bucky. There's hardly anyone there in the mornings, and if the conversation starts down a path that makes you uncomfortable, you can give me a signal and I'll change it. You don't have to talk." He hesitated. "You've been cooped in here for too long. Maybe it'll do you really good. I trust you." He had continued to hesitate, until she had confirmed her faith.

"Do you mean that, really?"

"I do. Just…think about it." He sat conflicted, and she reached out for one of the records closest to her. "Shall we?" He gestured for her to go on, no sign of protest, and she walked over to the record player, frowning down at it uncertainly. Of course, she was sure she could figure it out, but maybe it would help to have Bucky work with something familiar. As she turned, about to ask him for instruction, her words died and were replaced with a gasp to find him already right there behind her. Her fingers nearly dropped the record, but he was prepared to catch it, and they stood staring at each other face to face, holding the record between them. Her heart was pounding in her chest, it was the only sound she could hear in her ears. Something like defeat began to build in his expression, and his hands dropped, immediately taking a step backwards.

"I'm sorry," He apologized instantly. "I figured you didn't know how to work it."

"You're right; I was just about to ask for your help. Please?" She stepped to the side as he half-heartedly stepped forward and took the record silently from her.

Bellamy found herself watching him stare down at the record player as he delicately placed the record on the turntable. Her eyes spread from his jawline up towards his focused eyes, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away, behind his ear. She watched his lips part to speak, until his words brought her back.

"You're still terrified of me." She swallowed and placed her gaze on his hand putting the needle arm down.

"You just startled me."

"That was a lie." Bellamy pursed her lips together. Suddenly music began to play. He stood beside it for a moment before he walked back to the records, beginning to sort through them again mindlessly.

"This is incredible," she told him as she walked back and sat back down on the ground beside him. He was holding a record, paused. Slowly, his hands floated down.

"I remember this song. The night before I had to leave, to go to war, I danced to this." Suddenly, as if he remembered her there, he glanced at her and looked down. "Sorry, you probably don't want to hear it."

"No, no—of course I do." The memories seemed to be coming back to him every day, but the memories before the war were perhaps the purest, and she would be lying if she said she wasn't curious. Maybe he was right that sunrise on the roof; the more she learned about him, the more he became a person, the more she realized he lived only part of his life before it got ripped away. "Were you close to her?" If this girl was someone important to him, she could be key in helping him retrieve more missing aspects of his life.

"No." He replied. "I don't think we were. Just a really pretty girl who was sad to see me go. I've never had a steady partner in my life. I think. But she was really nice. I told her I would write her, but, I didn't." He sat up straighter and put the record back down, into a place in line. He glanced at her briefly, mild curiosity within them. "Never had a special guy?"

"I…uh," The table had turned too entirely unexpectedly, and the sound of her nervous uncontainable laughter hurt her ears. She focused her gaze down to her hands in her lap, feeling his gaze turn into the sun and give her cheeks a burn. "Well, there was one man, some time ago, I guess. We got along well enough. But I could tell he wanted more of a commitment. I couldn't give him that." Bucky looked serious at her.

"He wasn't the one?"

"Oh no. I've never missed him, never thought of him. I think with the one, you just know. Maybe not right away, not like love at first sight. I imagine it just sort of hits you one day." He nodded slowly. His next question surprised her.

"Have you ever been dancing?"

"Not exactly…" She murmured, trailing off.

"Not exactly…? You either have or you haven't."

"Well, I guess I can't really say I have."

"Back then, dancing was a big deal. Wasting the night away, decked out all nice. Every girl just wanted to dance with a nice fella."

"I'm sure lots of girls wanted to dance with you." He looked up and she wasn't expecting to watch his cheeks grow rosy. There was no way to hide it, such an unabashed and unstoppable tint on his skin, and she smiled at the sight, at the daintily absurd idea that she had just made an assassin blush.

"Maybe." He mumbled, still dodging her eyes. "But that was back then." Together, they sat in silence and listened, leaning against the love-seat. The song had ended and he was still sorting through the records, examining them one by one. She'd began to drift away, when he cleared his throat.

"It's almost morning." He murmured, and she glanced at her clock for confirmation. Five o'clock. "You're going to that café, right?"

"I should." She said, standing and stretching. He watched her, looking upwards.

"I'll go with you."

 _ **A/N: Thank you for reading, please review!**_


	12. To Smile Genuinely

"Okay, what are our codes?" Bellamy asked Bucky as they walked briskly side by side down the dim street. The coffee shop was around the corner and she was checking all their bases one last time. Both of them were dressed similarly, wearing baseball hats and layers of neutral colored clothing. Bucky had his right hand shoved into his pocket ever since they left her apartment. "If you want me to change the conversation, you'll say…?"

"What's the time?" He answered, not lifting his head up.

"Right, good. And if you need to leave…?" He sighed, frowning at the pavement.

"I think I'm running late."

"Good, good. You're going to be fine. Hey," Her hand gently touched his arm and slowed their pace when she noticed he was still frowning. "What's wrong?"

"What if I just keep asking for the time the whole time?" He worried glumly after a moment of pausing, sighing.

"I'll try my best to keep the conversation in the right direction, okay? Don't worry. Do you trust me?" She waited until he nodded. "And I trust you. Alright? We'll be fine." They were outside the café and she opened the door for him, but he gestured for her to go first. Inside, Bellamy scanned the small brick room with the warm glow. It was an open area of wooden tables and she wasn't at all surprised to see two familiar faces draping their jackets over the chairs of the farthest table back next to the window. They had just arrived too. Bellamy pointed the duo out to Bucky, before she started over. She noticed Bucky hanging back just as Mrs. McGrath noticed her, her face brightening dramatically with delighted astonishment.

"Bellamy!" She cried, clapping her hand over her mouth. "Oh, hello my beautiful girl, how have you been?" Bellamy met her halfway, and allowed the little woman to wrap her arms around her frame.

"I've been well, Mrs. McGrath." Bellamy smiled pleasantly as she received a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, Mr. McGrath, how are things?" The older man gave her a stoic thin-lipped smile as he now embraced her with a firm hug.

"Wonderful, now."

"We were starting to get a little worried, truthfully!" Mrs. McGrath laughed. "Began fearing the worst, I was figuring you moved, or some godawful thing had happened, I—" Her rambling stopped the moment she caught sight of Bucky behind Bellamy, and she looked over her shoulder at him, who suddenly had everyone's attention, and was painfully aware of it. He had been watching quietly, but now studied his shoes, his arms behind his back. "Oh…is this…?" Bellamy stretched her arm out towards Bucky in a way to beckon him closer.

"Mr. McGrath, Mrs. McGrath, this is my friend Bennie Taylor." It was a fictitious name and story to protect his real identity. Bellamy may not have lied about her first name to the McGrath's, but that was about all they knew in terms of her identity. Bucky dragged his feet as he walked closer, resembling a nervous dog. "We met not too long ago; he used to be a marine."

"That makes sense," Mr. McGrath nodded, eyeing Bucky with clear esteem. Even with his shoulders a bit slouched, trying to make himself smaller and not appear to be a threat, Bucky still possessed a very powerful looking frame.

"We live in the same building and found out we shared a mutual friend—it really is a small world." With the mini-biography they'd made up, she was sure it would answer any question they might have, but also had one distracting point she knew Mr. McGrath would bring up at some point.

"Well, how do you do?" Mrs. McGrath smiled warmly, sticking out her hand, which Bucky took after a second with the lightest of touches.

"I'm good, thanks. It's nice to meet you both." He took Mr. McGrath's hand next, and she noticed Bucky's eyes staring at the hat on his head that was labeled _Veteran_. He cleared his throat, and shifted his gaze to Bellamy in a glance. "Bellamy's told me a lot about you two." It made them happy—Mrs. McGrath beaming and Mr. McGrath letting out a small deep laugh.

"Come, come! Sit with us; a friend of Bellamy's is a friend of ours." Mrs. McGrath invited excitedly, laying her hand on Bucky's shoulder. "My, such a strong young man." Bellamy didn't miss the tone of voice Mrs. McGrath had used when she said "friend", along with the more obvious look she sent, and she tried to catch Bucky's eyes to share a subtle apologetic glance, but he didn't notice, or seem to be bothered. "So what do you do now?" Mrs. McGrath asked Bucky as they were all sitting. Bellamy quickly interjected.

"Well actually, we're both looking for work right now; I was laid off, unfortunately." Bellamy had never told them the extent of what she actually did. As far as the couple knew, she worked in some office building downtown.

"Oh no," Mr. McGrath said as his wife groaned. "That's not good news."

"The bright side, however, if there is one, is all the free time you have now." Mrs. McGrath chirped, smiling at the two of them side by side. Bucky shifted in his seat next to her, but Bellamy smiled casually.

"Ah. Yes. It's well needed R&R."

"So, Bennie," Mr. McGrath leaned forward on the table, turning his serious gaze to Bucky. "What made you decide to join the marines?" Everyone turned to him expectantly, and Bellamy watched him swallow and begin to hesitate. She knew she couldn't answer for him, so she had to figure out a different way to turn the conversation around. Lightly, she touched his shoulder, smiling.

"You know, I bet Mr. McGrath is just, tickled, to meet you; he comes from a military family. He even served and fought in Vietnam." It worked, she knew it had once Mr. McGrath began nodding.

"I joined willingly, but most of the men I knew were forced to. Most of us were young. Didn't really know what we were doing. I'm one of the lucky ones though. I lost a lot of friends, a lot of good men. Some of my friends are still here, but I still lost them, you know? But I don't regret it, I bet you don't either. I know despite all the horror I've seen, done, there's still good. I try to be the good." Bellamy relaxed; she'd heard it all before and knew it was a topic Mr. McGrath could talk incessantly over, though she never minded. Next, she decided she was going to request one of his light-hearted stories, but Bucky's voice startled her, and stopped that plan.

"It was never a question to me." Once again, Bucky was staring at the veteran hat, before he focused on Mr. McGrath himself. "I was capable and young and my country needed me, I didn't need another reason." Mrs. McGrath just nodded, but it was Mr. McGrath who smiled solemnly in an understanding she wasn't capable of holding, and tipped his hat ever so slightly towards Bucky. He returned the gesture after he got over his momentary surprise, nodding back. Though neither the McGrath's had a reason to be surprised by his spoken words, she did. He had a way out, he didn't need to speak she'd told him that. But he wanted to, and it made all the difference and she couldn't stop staring at him. He felt her gaze and glanced her way.

The look he gave her made their surroundings completely drop away. There was no soft acoustic music playing, no people around, just him sitting beside her and the look on his face. A look that was no longer the tortured smudged soul being tormented, but one who just wanted so very desperately to be good. An awkward half-smile asking if he was doing well enough yet, a look that pleaded for patience, because he was on his way, but lost. Someone who was just trying to do what was right. Her own presence was secondary, up until she felt herself smiling back at him.

"Alright, enough with the heavy." Mrs. McGrath spoke up with a smile and glance at her husband. "Who wants coffee?"

"Yes of course, here, Bennie and I can get all of ours." Bucky followed her lead and stood and they left the table, though she didn't miss the second knowing look Mrs. McGrath sent. As soon as they were together and away, Bellamy began trying to find the right words to express how proud she was.

"They, uh…" She didn't get the chance to as Bucky spoke. "They think we're a couple, don't they." He asked, straight-faced and staring straight ahead.

"Naturally." She answered honestly. "I live alone, remember, and you're the first man I've ever even suggested I have regular contact with. I can tell them we're not if that would make you more comfortable?"

"They probably wouldn't believe you." He continued staring straight ahead at the cash register and menu board hung on the wall behind the smiling barista.

"So…what would you like?" Bellamy prompted as they approached. "What sounds good?"

"I…" His eyes were scanning all the unfamiliar names on the menu, a whole wall's worth of unfamiliar. Something seemed to make him disgruntled, as he turned his back to the board and leaned against the counter. "Pick for me."

"I'm just trying to avoid another apple incident." His disgruntled face turned to one of mild amusement and he looked to her, instead of the menu.

"What do you get?"

"I'm, uh, a bit boring…I always get plain black coffee." She admitted, but went further, for some reason. "I used to hate it, but I wanted to look professional when I was younger. I don't mind the taste anymore." He chuckled, but lifted his eyes.

"What if we both try something new?" She blinked at the suggestion, before she realized it was fair. And not a bad idea; whenever she went to any place she always played it safe. Maybe it was time to broaden her life in every aspect.

"Okay…how about…" She read the items, looking for something a bit out there, but nothing too extreme. "Two white chocolate lattes?"

"Sure." He immediately agreed. Bellamy ordered Mrs. McGrath's chai latte, as well as Mr. McGrath's sweetened Americano.

Back at the table, Bellamy watched Bucky take his first drink. He noticed, and nodded to her.

"Not bad."

"I'm glad you like it." She told him a bit teasingly. "It's a little sweet to me."

"Well…you're not making a weird face like you do when you drink black coffee at home." Bucky noted, staring down at his cup, before he looked up and sent her something of a playful smile. There, it really was; he was teasing her. She looked back down at her cup, chuckling, but realizing he might have had a point and shook her head in disbelief—had she even lied to herself about liking bitter black coffee?

"So, Bellamy," Mrs. McGrath pulled her from her thoughts and she straightened up at being addressed. "I know you must have been awfully busy lately, but…I know it's been some time since you've been volunteering with the children…" A wave of guilt attacked her stomach.

"Yes…time has definitely gotten away from me." It was hard to keep her eyes trained on the woman. The McGrath's never had children of their own, but together, they had fostered around 12 children. Sometimes, they didn't even know their fates. Mrs. McGrath had a belief she would be joined with them all together again, one day. "But, now my schedule is very open."

"Oh, good." Mrs. McGrath smiled wider. "Perhaps you could even take Bennie with you." Bellamy smiled politely, about to agree lightly and move on, but Bucky spoke, again, before she did.

"Yeah, I would like to." Bellamy glanced at him, stunned completely this time. He only gave her that same look again, and there at the coffee shop, she realized she'd forgotten he was capable of making his own choice to voice his thoughts, that it was her who had reminded him of it…and it was all there, on his face. It was a look she would never been able to forget in her life.

* * *

Every time Bellamy glanced at Bucky's face, there was a different color there. The sun lowered more and more, and its palette found its home on his skin—intense shades of orange deepening into red, shifting towards violets and indigos.

The sound of the breeze paused every now and then, either on its own or muted from the sound of her breaking the skin of a grape with her teeth. Between them, there was a bowl of fresh fruit. They were sitting on the rooftop of her apartment again, watching the sun go down over New York. Bucky only took a piece of fruit every so often, the smallest ones, and only after she'd taken a few.

"Did you mean it?" It was next to impossible to keep the question from popping out, it'd been on her mind all day since they'd left the café. Bucky had been reaching into the bowl, but at her question his motions stopped, and his eyes glanced towards her. Wordlessly, he continued on with his search after a moment before he finally frowned as if he couldn't find the right piece.

"I'm nervous." He picked up a strawberry. "Around kids."

"But you would want to." She guessed as he chewed. Carefully, she repositioned herself to face him entirely. "I know you're in there. The person you want to be. Bucky, you did so well today, back with the McGrath's." Bucky raised his eyes.

"Thanks…but," he sighed. "It's not that easy. I wish it were. I'm not just some dog that can be trained or a teddy bear that needs to be stuffed and stitched again. If I snap, I could kill an innocent child. I could've killed Mr. and Mrs. McGrath. You." He took a small breath. "As much as I liked talking with them…it was terrifying."

"It was a new experience. We both had a new experience, and I know trying new coffee is much different than…testing yourself but. It will get easier. I trust you, Bucky—I would never let you around these people that mean something to me if I didn't. Maybe Fury thought people were expendable but…I never did." In her head was that image of him, staring back at her with such a powerful look of wanting to be better. "I _know_ you can do this." He stared at her long enough until he got whatever he seemingly needed, and finally, nodded.

"I trust you too, you know. I'm not trusting myself, I'm trusting your trust in me."

"So you will come with me to volunteer?" She asked, realizing how hopeful she sounded.

"Yes. I'll come."

* * *

That visit was scheduled for a later date, on a fun day where the two of them would have the chance to paint on paper plates with all the children and make macaroni arts and crafts. For the time being, they passed the hours in the day and night in several ways. Sometimes, she would use her laptop and catch Bucky up to speed on certain things, usually pop culture—he knew major things, making him an easier case than Steve, although, she wasn't entirely well versed with celebrity drama either. It didn't interest either of them.

"Is this what you listen to?" He asked, looking through her Spotify song library.

"Yeah—no, wait!" She tried to catch him before he could click on a song that made his eyebrows raise and a frown at the same time. It was "Nasty" by Janet Jackson.

 _Gimme a beat!_

Bellamy felt her face blatantly blushing as the music played.

 _Sittin' in the movie show, thinkin' nasty thoughts_

 _Better be a gentleman or you turn me off_

Bucky glanced at her and she had to close her mouth and stop her futile stuttering attempts.

"Okay, there's a thing called a guilty pleasure, and this is definitely one of mine…"

"Just one of them, huh?" He mused and she grimaced. As it continued playing, Bucky let out a chuckle.

"I never would've guessed you would like something like…this." She sighed, trying to wash away her embarrassment but decided if it made him smile—and it did—it was worth it.

"Alright, let's just stop this. Here, I bet you would like this," Bellamy searched through until she found "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles and clicked on it. It played for a good amount of time and she kept glancing at his face, trying to gauge his reaction. Most people gave some sort of dead giveaway, but Bucky remained expressionless. "I can stop playing it if you don't—" Her hand moved to try and pause it, but he stopped her with his own. Briefly, their hands stayed in contact.

"No, don't." He tried to smile. "I do like it."

"The Beatles are very popular, they were popular in the 60's. My mother liked them." Bucky nodded. She wasn't sure if he already knew about them or not.

"Do you mind if I listen to the rest of your songs?" It was an unusual question, but somehow…it was almost cute. He tried to smile again, and that was cute too; it was hard for him to form a natural looking friendly smile, but he was trying and the attempt was pure. "I'm curious."

"Of course you can. I have earbuds too, if you want. You connect it to the laptop and then put them in your ears. It lets you listen to it privately." This time the smile was more naturally, something like amusement, she realized.

"I know. Thank you. That'd be swell." Bellamy smiled; it was easier for her.

Though he was limited to her library and not a much bigger one, he found artists he liked. Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, The Eagles, and even one Fleetwood Mac song. As time went on, he started to get into more grunge-styled artists; Nirvana and Pearl Jam.

"I would show you some movies too, but…" she told him one day, and they both looked at the still broken TV.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I don't think I can fix that."

"No, no, you don't need to get electrocuted today." She replied quickly, making him snort. Her laptop resting on the side table by the armchair caught her eye. "Actually, maybe we can."

So they would sit on opposite ends of the loveseat and watch movies on the small screen of her laptop. It was usually a somewhat draining experience; she had to come up with her own rating system in order to avoid anything that could potentially cause him any sort of discomfort and then remain on edge the rest of the time, coolly watching his body language.

The most successful had been _Rocky_. Bellamy noticed a certain light in his eyes as they watched together.

"I used to box," he told her as if he couldn't hold it in anymore halfway through the movie. Or maybe, he'd just realized it, the memory on the tip of his tongue and now coming to fruition. "And I was pretty good."

"Oh, _were_ you." She asked, keeping her tone light and good-natured. He turned to her, a half-smile on his face that she realized was a smirk.

"I was a three-time Welterweight champ." Her eyes must have betrayed her surprise, because he chuckled and added, "YMCA."

"Still. That's pretty cool."

"You know, back when we first found out we were going to war, Steve was really gung-ho." As he began to talk in that wistful tone, his words slow and thoughtful, she paused the movie. "I knew he didn't really have a shot, but I tried to give him one. I trained him to box." Bellamy grinned.

"What a handful." She laughed, with a small smile. The more she learned about Steve from Bucky, the more she was beginning to like him.

"Knucklehead." He muttered, shaking his head. Bellamy bit her lip, considering bringing up the idea of giving Steve a call, but instead just played the movie again.

Finally, it dawned on her, the best things to watch. Lighthearted and airy, full of warm moments—Disney.

"I didn't think you would like this," he quipped as they watched _Snow White_ one night with hot chocolate. Bellamy raised an eyebrow.

"I may be boring, but I like classics."

"You're not boring." He murmured back after a moment, bringing her attention back to him and noticing from the side the way his face looked. Content.

* * *

To keep other thoughts from her mind, thoughts of work or anything else, she would refocus to think of ways she could help Bucky. Sure, it was completely life-changing, what she was going through, but only if she focused on it. If she thought about it. It was easier to turn the situation into a mission, and her mission was not only to get Bucky to smile, but to smile genuinely. Without a thought, just as easy as breathing.

The calendar was on her side, and gave her an excellent starting point. It was a Tuesday, and she and Bucky had picked up going to Susanna's Café regularly. The news on the Winter Soldier was finally beginning to cool down, new beliefs circling that he had likely fled to a different country.

Secretly, she believed Bucky couldn't keep himself away from Mr. McGrath. They talked endlessly, and he'd even told Bucky to call him by his first name, John. Of course, Mrs. McGrath adored him too, if only for the reason he'd seemed to be the catalyst that caused Bellamy to meet with them again. But it was more than that too; she'd asked to be called Flora.

When it was just about time to head out and over, she entered the living room and found Bucky sitting on the love-seat patiently before standing at the sight of her.

"Ready?"

"In a moment." She told him, approaching him with her hands behind her back. He noticed immediately, she noted, watching his flickering questioning eyes. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Tuesday?" He answered, blinking.

"Yes," she told him with a chuckle. "But, it's not just any Tuesday. It's a special one. March 10th." Slowly, realization crept into his eyes, but she was the one who had to say it. "It's your birthday." Pulling her hands from behind her back, she revealed a book she'd pulled carefully from her collection. "Happy Birthday, Bucky." He looked from the book to her eyes and back to the book, everything from surprise to bewilderment in his own

"You're giving me a book?" He asked, having no choice but to accept her gift as she pressed it gently into his hands.

"Well, I thought you'd enjoy this one. Passes the time, if anything. It's one of mine so…"

"I'll be careful." He finished, but frowned. "…You like to read, right?"

"Yes." She confirmed, but also questioned. He nodded.

"That's what I thought. My mind gets jumbled a lot nowadays, and sometimes I forget memories." It was concerning and sad, what he was telling her, but she wanted to keep it light, the day. She swallowed and pressed a small smile on her face.

"I've read every book here. You can read as many as you want, or, as many as you can finish." The corners of his mouth were at least upturned.

"Thank you." He took a closer look at the book and carefully flipped the pages. "What's it about?"

"Read it and find out." She smiled nonchalantly at the copy of Charlotte's Web in his hands. "But, to give you a hint, it's about the cycle of life, and the meaning of a real, true friend."


	13. Hot Dogs In Brooklyn

"There's one more place I need to go, actually." Bellamy told Bucky as they walked out of Susanna's Café. Flora and John had made a big deal about Bucky's birthday, naturally. They had scolded both of them for not telling them in advance and bought him a cheese Danish from behind the counter.

"I don't need gifts." He had told the old couple as they made a fuss. "Your conversation is enough." Needless to say, they loved him.

"Where?" Bucky asked her.

"Well, Mrs. McGrath's birthday is coming up too, actually. I was going to head to the market and buy some more apples and try to get that apple pie right so I can make her a perfect one. But of course, you don't have to come. I can walk you back to the apartment."

"I'll go with you." He told her. The nearest market was also within walking distance. Between them they shared a bubble of unburdened silence, protected from the outside chatter of the people they passed, and the honking cars in the street.

"This is odd." She decided as they walked and she had been alone with her thoughts for long enough.

"What?" Bucky asked, immediately but nonchalantly looking around.

"Having so much free time I picked up baking as a hobby." Bucky relaxed and glanced at her. "Not having orders to follow, of some sort."

"You need to stop living in the past." He told her, catching her off guard. "Isn't the now what's important?" Bellamy sighed.

"Yes, well…maybe I'm still not ready."

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, his voice lowered, and when she turned to him, he was looking back earnestly. "I'll listen." They had reached the market now and headed towards the fresh produce.

"Thanks, but I think I just need to pretend now. So let's get these apples and a few things for your birthday dinner, huh? Maybe you don't remember your favorite meal, but I can make a mean—"

"Actually…I do." Bucky cut her off. Bellamy blinked.

"Oh. Well, good, maybe I can make that. What was it, steak and potatoes? Meatloaf?"

"Hot dogs."

"… _Hot_ dogs?" He glanced at her and she fixed her face quickly. "I mean, that's…if that's your favorite, then of course."

"They weren't just any hot dogs." Bellamy pursed her lips skeptically. "Every birthday, Steve and I would save up and splurge on the best hot dog stand in Brooklyn. We would almost make ourselves sick." Bellamy thought for a second before she let out a breath and nodded decisively.

"Okay." She made herself agree verbally. Bucky blinked.

"What?"

"We should drop these apples off and get going; Brooklyn is much too far of a walk from here."

* * *

Bucky sighed for about the fifth time of the car ride from the backseat. Every time she glanced in the rearview mirror, his arms remained crossed.

"If you keep making that face it'll get stuck that way." She joked and he rolled his eyes.

"You shouldn't have done this." That was also something he had said close to five times now.

"Your birthday only comes around once a year." He sent her a look and opened his mouth, but she cut him off sharply. "And don't say something absurd like you shouldn't have been born, alright?" He closed his mouth. When she glanced back in the mirror, he was somewhat smirking.

"You're beginning to know me pretty well."

"No. There's more to you than angst, Barnes." Something she said must have worked because he uncrossed his arms not too long after.

When they reached Brooklyn, Bellamy was to look for a specific park, apparently like that of Central Park—that was where the hot dog stand was. Bucky insisted it couldn't possibly still be there, but Bellamy finally found it.

There appeared to be nothing special of it, it was just a regular looking silver stand with a red umbrella and one man working, but the way Bucky looked at it with such familiarity had her deciding that it was anything but ordinary.

As the two of them approached the stand, Bucky began to trail back, and stopped her completely by pulling her wrist. It startled her, and she knew Bucky could see it when she turned around; he let go instantly.

"Maybe we shouldn't." He told her as she stopped. Instantly, she searched the area around them, only seeing people walking with a purpose, a young woman with black hair jogging with her retriever, a family of four.

"Are you running late?" She asked him casually, checking their path back to her car.

"…No, but…" He looked down, hiding from her questioning eyes and shuffling his feet. "You shouldn't be paying for my meals. Or coffee." His voice was almost too quiet for her to hear his embarrassed words, but when she did, she realized the problem and relaxed instantly. "It isn't the gentleman thing to do."

Bellamy chuckled first softly, really more out of amazement than anything. He still wouldn't meet her gaze and she wondered what color his cheeks were.

"Bucky, it's on me." He still didn't lift his gaze, and she smiled; it was absolutely endearing. "It's your birthday, I want to do this." Tentatively, he looked up, still hiding a bit with the brim of his hat. "Nowadays, plenty of women pay for themselves, I always do. Sometimes couples even split the check. Just allow me, okay?" There was something he didn't understand, but he nodded anyways, albeit reluctantly. Maybe he knew she wasn't taking no for an answer. "Alright. You're going to have to tell me what to get."

* * *

"You just have to go for it." Bellamy frowned down at the much bigger than she had expected hot dog in her hands. Bucky was coaching her, in a sense, after watching her shift it to different angles every time she brought it to her mouth. "C'mon, just take a bite." She sent him a narrowed eyed glance, now regretting letting him convince her to try the messiest one, apparently.

"Why don't you take the first bite, birthday boy?" They were sitting on an abandoned bench deep within the park, underneath the shade of several trees trying to bloom again, but still struggling.

"Alright." He agreed. The hot dog looked much smaller in his hands and he took a bite almost expertly, experiencing no trouble. As he chewed, his eyes shut. Bellamy smiled at his enjoyment, so uninhibited. "It tastes exactly the same." He said in amazement, chuckling, before he looked at her. "After you, miss." Likely, the whole experience was just bringing out a lighter side of him, but his words made her heart jump and eating the messy hot dog was suddenly incredibly daunting.

"Oh no," she mumbled as she lifted it up again. What was she even doing; she never liked hot dogs ever in her life, but she forced herself to take a bite. And it was…good. If she could ignore how messy it felt.

"Good, right?" He asked. Bellamy finished chewing and looked at him without any way to disagree.

"Yeah…yeah, it is." Bucky was staring at her face before he raised his hand and pointed to the spot right above his own lip, and it took her a second to realize what he meant, and an incredibly long second to find a napkin to wipe the ketchup away. "That _would_ happen to me…" she muttered in embarrassment, feeling her skin grow hot.

"That's how you know it's good." Bucky was smiling and took another bite. "'S'not so bad, right?" He teased.

"Well. I _guess_ it is pretty good."

They continued to eat uninterrupted, unless the sound of the birds chirping counted. Bucky brushed his hands off and wiped his mouth clean as he finished his second.

"Do you want to talk about what's been bothering you now?" He prompted as he leaned back against the bench. His arm was casually hung over the back, she was far enough away that they weren't in contact, but with him sitting that way, it was more than easy to imagine it. She frowned at the thought and pushed it away. "I know you're just…trying to pretend you can tolerate me and everything, but…sometimes you do have to get it out."

"I'm not pretending to tolerate you, Bucky. It's not you." She disagreed. "I'm…pretending to be a person who's not so...strict and rigid and boring. Who's not just some agent." She sighed. "That literally was my life, and it was for nothing. HYDRA manipulated me because I was the way I was. And I hate them, but I hate even more how gullible I was—I wasn't picked to be Deputy Director because I was good, or ready, or experienced, certainly not because I was the best. But because I finally agreed with their agenda. Peace by any means necessary."

"Stop." Bucky told her, earning her attention with the vehemence in his tone. "You're _not_ them, you never were. You are good. You didn't know they were HYDRA. They manipulated both of us." Bucky was shaking his head, and turned his eyes to her, speaking with intense focus. "Bellamy, they already took so much from you…don't let them take yourself too." As she stared back, she knew he was speaking from experience.

"I guess that's what we're both after. An identity." They sat together quietly. Bellamy frowned as she thought more and more about it. "Maybe we're just complicating it."

"How?"

"Maybe we should just try to be happy." Bucky stared at her for such a long time that she thought he was going to disagree, but he snorted as if he had realized something too.

"It's pretty simple if you think of it that way." He reasoned, before sending her a cool smile. It was a good one. All day, he had made good attempts, but finally, it was starting to become a trouble-free thing. "Well, you made me pretty happy today, so…I've got a good start." He waited as if he were expecting her to say something, but she wasn't sure if she could; it took her a long time to figure out the strange heavy sensation in her chest. Only once he had turned away was when she could get out,

"Good, I'm glad I could." He looked back to her and she could feel her heart pounding, which wasn't uncommon around him, but the cause was…different. "You should always be happy on your birthday."

* * *

Even if living in the same space had gotten easier, Bucky trying to find peace while sleeping hadn't. Bellamy couldn't stop thinking about what he had told her earlier after she had given him the book. Maybe he needed one more present.

Out on the love-seat, Bucky was lying down staring up at the ceiling with a deep-in-thought-frown, and an arm behind his head. She cleared her throat with her hands behind her back again, and he sat up, before he made a face.

"Not another one…" He told her. She smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry, this one isn't anything grand. May I sit with you?" He moved quickly to oblige and give her more than enough space. Before she sat, she pulled out the empty notebook from behind her back. "You told me this morning that sometimes your memories get jumbled…I thought this would help. Some people keep a diary to help keep their thoughts straight. You can write down anything you want, when you can't sleep you can write." He took the notebook gingerly with slow motions, and held it the way one should hold a glass antique, rather than a notebook. "You've told me a lot of old memories lately, just like the one today about you and Steve. I don't want you to ever forget a memory like that."

"Thank you, Bellamy." He spoke softly, before he started to frown. "I really don't deserve your kindness."

"You deserve to be happy. We deserve to be happy." He inspected her carefully, his features soft.

"What makes you happy, then?"

"I don't know." She admitted "I don't know how to go from trying to save the world and help it the best way I can…to helping myself. It seems very, very insignificant." Bucky frowned.

"I think finally figuring out what you want is one of the most important things you'll do. Far from insignificant. I don't think anything about you is insignificant, Bellamy." He was staring at her sincerely and intent, but a part of her kind of wished he were avoiding her gaze again.

"Sure, but I'm just another name exposed after S.H.I.E.L.D., I'm just a name with a list."

"I bet lots of little girls know about your name now. And they know your every accomplishment and how you tried to make the world better, and they want to grow up to be just like you." Bellamy felt genuinely touched, it was such a genuine statement she hadn't heard in the longest time, with such honest sincerity. The heavy feeling in her chest was back, and she blinked, uncomfortable with it and the way her face was warming.

"What did you want to be when you grew up?" Bellamy asked delicately, leaning her head back on the love-seat.

"I think I just, wanted to be a man. I imagine when I was younger, I wanted to be in the Olympics, or a doctor, or something. But then I went to war, and I just wanted to come home a hero. I wanted to settle down. Be a shoulder to lean on, have a family. Be a good man." The more he spoke, the more she smiled, and when she turned to him, she watched a slow smile spread on his lips too.

"I don't think it's ever too late to be who you wanted to be."

"And I don't think it's too late to figure out what you want. And I'm sure, being you, you'll get it." The swirling heaviness in her chest finally named itself; butterflies were tumbling around inside her ribcage and urging her heart to fly too.

"Thank you, Bucky. That means a lot." Silently, he nodded. With that, she hesitated there on the sofa, meaning to leave to go to her room, but also, surprisingly, wanting to stay. Bucky stared at her with a light look on his face. For the first time in a long time, she noticed the silence between them. It was calm. "Well…goodnight, Bucky. And Happy Birthday."

"Goodnight, and thanks." She smiled in goodbye and stood to walk away. "Sleep well." He added, and she paused, smiling over her shoulder before it turned into a somber one.

"I wish I could tell you the same. I really do."

"I'll be fine."

Bellamy wasn't really sure what that meant, until she tiptoed down the hallway an hour later, unable to sleep until she knew. Silently, she watched him sitting on the couch writing ceaselessly in the notebook, and realized it was better than nothing; it was a first step towards sleeping well.

 **A/N: Well, obviously this story is a bit of a slow burn but the fluff and future fluff is worth it, I promise! The hot dog scene was inspired by the song "Gold In The Air" by Jesse Woods. Anyways, thank you for taking the time to read and please review!**


	14. All Of His Colors

"You know, why don't you take my bed?" Bellamy suggested one morning as she watched Bucky stare unseeingly straight at a wall. His lack of sleep lately was worrying her, and she tried as best she could to make her suggestion sound casual, but it seemed to snap him right out of his state as he sent her an incredulous look.

"What?"

"I mean I'm a lot smaller than you, I can take the love-seat. I'm a heavy-sleeper, I can fall asleep anywhere—"

"Bellamy." He stopped her with a shake of his head and a short chuckle. "What are you doing?" She tried to playing it off and stared back at him, innocently quizzical. "I used to think you were good at lying, but I know you a bit better now." She sighed as he waited expectantly.

"You need more sleep."

"You don't have to worry about me." He tried to tell her forcefully, but she shook her head and joined him on the love-seat.

"Right. Well, while you were staring at the wall like a zombie," he rolled his eyes. "I was researching sleep relief. It's all very broad, or not applicable. Though, there were a few things you could try, yoga, for instance—"

"What? Bellamy, listen," He interrupted her again, frowning and beginning to smile at the same time. "I'm not taking your bed, got it? I'm still in debt to you for everything else and I'm starting to run up quite the tab." She scoffed. "The last thing I'm going to do is take your own bed in your apartment."

"What keeps you up?" She questioned softly, inspecting his face. "Is it…that you can't fall asleep? Are you just forcing yourself to stay awake? Is it nightmares?"

"Nightmares." He mumbled back softly in confirmation, eyes unseeing again. She swallowed.

"You don't have to tell me about them. But…I did read one thing that you could try." She pulled her legs up on the couch and sat crisscrossed in front of him. "If it's the same kind of dream, reoccurring or similar, you could try writing them down to analyze. They say it helps to then reimagine them when you're conscious to have a different, better ending. It helps about 70% of people." Bucky nodded slowly.

"…I'll try it." She smiled, thinking of all of his progress thus far and knowing he meant it.

As agreed upon, they practiced baking a lot. She was happy to see Bucky helped more and more with each pie, flattered more so that he actually tried a bite of each one after they finished, even when she told him he didn't have to. Their rookie mistakes were long gone, and it was nearing perfect.

When they weren't trying to bake, they spent time reading on the love-seat silently, side by side. Bucky was a quick reader, to her surprise. A talking pig and an intelligent spider surprised him in a good way; he was very intrigued. Every so often, she would glance away from _The Flamethrowers_ by Rachel Kushner to watch his eyes flit across the pages, book in one hand with the other hand ready to turn the page. Sometimes he would catch her, but only because he had been the one staring first.

It wasn't long before it was time for them to volunteer. It was easy to get Bucky approved since she'd been so involved with a particular foster home in Harlem, in partnership with the Children's Aid Society. She'd done everything from tutoring to giving important speeches, but she particularly enjoyed spending time with the younger children, the precious impressionable youth, which is what she and Bucky would be doing together. It was sure to be light and easy-going, or so she thought.

Once around the children, Bucky stuck close to her side, rigid and seemingly terrified as he carefully avoided the small children, picking his way around them as though they were small bombs about to go off. He especially took care to have his metal hand jammed into his pocket at all times.

"Cynthia, please don't run sweetheart, come and paint. It's a special painting day, your paper plate is empty. Oh, that is a _very_ good monkey, Andre. Jasmine, take the paintbrush out of your mouth, you hold it in your hand. Like this." Bellamy found a second to glance up at Bucky standing beside her from where she was kneeling in front of the craft table and grew sympathetic at his wide eyes. He had no idea what to do.

A child squealed in excitement and he jumped.

"Hey, Bucky? You can go outside if you need a breather?" She told him reassuringly. He glanced down at her.

"No, they're fine." She wasn't convinced, until a small boy ran into his legs and giggled as another boy chased him. They played around his legs, weaving around him.

"Hey, hey," she told them, trying to nudge them away from Bucky the best she could with paint covered hands. "That's rude boys, you should apologize when you run into someone. Right?" The two boys both nodded.

"Sorry!" They both chirped cheerfully up at Bucky, undeterred by whatever presence he thought he had.

"No problem, boys." He said, and that was when that look came back. Of wanting to be better, of wanting to try. Only because it was on his face, she asked him if he wanted to join.

"…Sure." He answered, after he took another look at the children around them to make sure. Bellamy stood and clapped her hands twice.

"Okay, little ones." She called, earning their attention. "My friend Bucky here needs a partner and he's really _, really_ good at painting."

"No I'm not," he disagreed beside her in a slightly panicked whisper. She ignored him, but stifled a smile.

"Who wants to team up with him for our painting contest?"

"I do!"

"No, me!" The kids were more excited than he could have predicted, than even she could, and they each tried to outdo each other by sticking their hands up in the air higher and higher. One little boy decided to climb a chair to get his hand higher, and of course, the idea caught on like a little wildfire.

"No, no—don't climb the chairs!" Bellamy told them quickly, trying to get them all down and catching sight of one other little boy with one foot on a chair, raising the other but slipping and nearly face planting onto the wooden chair. She gasped and felt her heart jolt and tried to reach out, but he didn't fall. Bucky had been closer, and faster, and caught him somehow firmly and gently at once, with his metal hand supporting his chest.

The boy squealed happily as he teetered in the air, balanced on Bucky's glinting hand before he placed him gently on the ground. Once there, the boy grabbed at the hand quickly. "Woah, your hand is cool! It's shiny, look!" He said as he inspected it. Bellamy grew worried as the kids began to surround him, all pulling and touching his hand.

"Hey, hey, give Bucky some space!" Bellamy tried, but was drowned out by children's wonder and amazement.

"Mr. Bucky, Mr. Bucky!" One voice rose above the others as a small girl, Jada, Bellamy recognized, pushed through the others in excitement. "You're just like me!" The other kids quieted down as she excitedly began to pull her right pant leg up to reveal a prosthetic leg. "I'm not supposed to show people, but you're just like me so it's okay, right?"

Jada stared up at Bucky with big brown eyes filled with a certain kind of happiness Bellamy could never understand or comprehend, but it was enough to fill her heart at the sight. Bucky stared down at the tiny girl with a look that was something of stunned horror that she realized was at the cruelty of the world itself. In slow movements, he knelt down in front of the little girl with soft understanding eyes and the beginning of a smile.

"Yeah, it is okay, sweetheart." He spoke gently before he gave her a bigger reassuring smile, and raised his hand as a means of inviting her to grab it. "I guess we were meant to be friends, huh?"

"I knew my prayers would be answered." Jada dodged his hand completely and flew into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face into his shirt. "I asked God for a friend like me, because you're supposed to pray for things you want. And now you're here." Slowly, Bucky raised his normal arm and rested it lightly against her head, and then raised his other hand to rest on her back as he returned the hug. Maybe it was the first one he'd had since 1945.

"I'd be honored to be your friend." His reply came out like a wisp of air, his voice light and peaceful. It was the gentlest tone she'd ever heard him use.

"Can I paint with you?" She asked as she pulled away, now full of eager energy that made the tight black coiled curls framing her face bounce.

"That's what friends are for, right?" Jada beamed and pulled on his hand to guide him over to her spot at the craft table, and Bellamy realized she had a smile herself.

"Alright, let's get back to paining, everyone."

Bellamy paired up with Hayden, the little boy who had nearly face planted on the chair, and the cozy little group of them crafted everything from a lion to an octopus. She kept an eye on Bucky, but realized she didn't have to when she noticed the ease on his face, the way he didn't have to worry about hiding his hand around them. Now that he knew they didn't see him as a threat, now that he had used what he thought made him a weapon for good, that a sweet little girl saw him as a hero for it, he seemed lighthearted.

Bucky answered every question thrown his way graciously; he'd lost his arm because he was a solider ("My daddy was a soldier!"), he just turned 30 ("You're really old."), and his favorite color? "Uh...red."

At one point, Bellamy glanced up and noticed Bucky had, somehow, gotten paint on his nose.

"Bucky," she tried quietly to get his attention. "Bucky." He looked up from the lady bug in progress on the plate only when Jada began nudging his arm. Bellamy hid a smile—perhaps of extra satisfaction after her embarrassing hot dog incident—as she pointed to her own nose. "You've got some paint." Suddenly all the children at the table began to laugh. Amazingly enough, Bucky laughed too after a moment.

"We match!" Jada had dabbed red paint on her own nose. This of course led to the rest of the kids doing the same. Bellamy even allowed Hayden to spot purple onto hers.

"Are you and Bellamy a couple?" Cute and giggly Jasmine asked when the nose-painting craze died down. Bellamy nearly ruined the clownfish she was painting. When she looked up, she made the mistake of locking eyes on Bucky, who stared straight back at her. Flustered, she redirected her gaze to the curious little girl.

"No, no. Bucky and I are just roommates."

"So you guys are married?" Somehow, she had made it worse and she wasn't sure if her face was growing flush or drained.

"Do you sleep in the same bed?" Hayden asked as he looked up at her with innocently questioning eyes. Giggles began to erupt, surely a bad sign.

"No…" She wasn't even sure how to go about it. Across from her, Bucky was looking directly down. "You all are like a big family, right? Here together, you guys have each other. Well, right now, in a way, Bucky and I just have each other."

"Like love?" Jada piped up. "Families love each other."

"There's different kinds of love. There's married love and family love and friend love…" Bellamy swallowed. "Bucky is my friend."

"Best friend?"

"…Yeah. He's my best friend." Bucky looked up now, eyes furrowed. "Alright, are we all finished?"

Of course, there was no clear winner; they all were and got to celebrate with pouches of apple juice and goldfish snacks. Bellamy read to the children after that a story about a family of raccoons. Bucky sat crisscrossed on the ground listening with the children—Jada wouldn't leave his side. She allowed him to leave only after he promised he would be back to visit, something that seemed more than easy for him to do. In fact, it seemed as though it was harder for him to leave her.

"I'm sorry about all the questions." Bellamy told him later in the car. It was dusk, and given that, it seemed safe enough for him to sit beside her in the passenger seat.

"They're kids." He shook her apology off dismissively. "It's really something, how blunt they are. Kinda makes you wish adults could be that straightforward."

"You're right. They certainly don't hold back." She agreed with a chuckle. The streetlights came in waves, washing over them for a second before they were drenched in darkness once more.

"Listen…" He said after he cleared his throat. "I know they put you in a tough spot back there. I didn't really know what to say, and I understand why you said what you said." Bellamy glanced over at him quizzically, and it took her a moment to understand.

"You think I lied." She realized finally, with a chuckle. When she glanced at him again, the lights illuminated his dumbfounded expression.

"Didn't you?" Directing her gaze back to the road, she smirked.

"I thought you could tell now when I'm lying and when I'm not." He said nothing. "You asked me at what point do the people I spend my time with stop being strangers. It's when you spend more time with them than you have with your own mom in the past five years, in closer quarters than you could ever prepare for." He was looking out the window the next time the faint orange light made him visible.

"Best friends don't—" She reached over and put her hand firmly over his hand. He flinched, and she realized it was his metal one, but she left it.

"Stop." She told him gently. "Did you see what you did with this hand today? I didn't say I was best friends with the Winter Soldier, did I? I'm friends with Bucky Barnes." He swallowed, but nodded. Like sleeping, like going out in public, everything was a work in progress.

"But I feel like…" He trailed off, searching for a way to continue.

"You don't consider me your best friend, huh?" She mused, teasing. "Of course."

"No, no." He disagreed quickly, snorting and sending her a look. "It's just, best friends know more about each other."

"Sure." She concurred.

"I feel like you're holding back still."

"It's not that I'm holding back. I mean…what am I supposed to say. I am just…an unemployed former agent. By the books and painfully boring."

"You're not boring, Bellamy."

"I don't have a _life_."

"Of course you do. You volunteer—those kids love you. The McGraths love you. You've read more books than I could imagine reading, and your music?"

"Alright, let's not." He chuckled.

"I can tell you you're not boring. That's not what I'm asking."

"What are you asking?" He thought for a long moment.

"If you could be anything you wanted, anything in the world, what would it be?" His head was leaned back against the seat as he stared out at the city passing by. It felt like a leisurely Sunday stroll, like they'd somehow been here before.

"Spontaneous." She decided after a span of silent thought. "I think about other agents a lot. About how they can do anything and it doesn't make them uncomfortable and I think about me, and how I got so lost in it all. And I wish I could just…let the moment take me and act on whatever I felt." Bucky was smiling at something outside the window, before he turned to her. And that's when she realized he was smiling at her.

"Girls just want to have fun, huh?" She rolled her eyes, but chuckled. "That's one of your guilty pleasures, isn't it. And you can't lie; it was in your library."

"Ah, yes. That _proves_ I'm not boring." She responded dryly, and Bucky laughed. "And what would you want to be, out of anything in the world?"

He grew serious again and let his head rest against his seat.

"Good."

"You are good." She told him lightly, but resolute. "Anyone could watch you today and see that."

"I want to be better."

"Maybe we can. Who says we can't just be these things? We just have to try right, I mean, what's stopping us?" He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing."

"We've both just, hit a low in our lives. But when you reach a low point, there comes a time when you have to go up." Bucky took a breath, but looked in agreement at her. Resolved.

"Well, up we go then."

* * *

Bucky was nearing the end of _Charlotte's Web_ , not surprisingly in a short amount of time. Bellamy was too enraptured to notice as she too was winding down on _The Flamethrowers_ , until she heard a sniffle. At first, it blended into the background, but then it came again, and stopped her reading eyes, directing them to Bucky beside her, who sniffled once more and lowered the book. His eyes were glossy. She stared without even one inkling on what to do.

"Bucky?" She asked uncertain and feeling helpless. One tear slipped from his eye delicately. "Bucky." She said, now in growing alarm at the sight of the fallen tear, and put down her book. His face was breaking, but also trying to fight the emotion away as he tried harshly to blink away what he was feeling. "Bucky, hey, it's okay." She scooted closer cautiously. At the movement, maybe at the words, he scooted forward to the edge of the love-seat and buried his face in his hands, his elbows on his legs. Now broken, he was trying to cry quietly, but she could see his frame shaking.

Bellamy stared, unable, unsure, and their prior conversation popped into her head. Other agents and their actions—lately she'd found herself asking, what would Natasha do? She'd been trained to rely on logic, head, head, head. _Your mind is your biggest weapon,_ she was always told. But now, she had to think with her emotions. What was the right thing to do now?

Not thinking about boundaries, not being afraid, she placed her arm gently over his back, embracing his much bigger body the best she could.

"Just let it out." She told him gently, though she felt a bit guilty, and bewildered. He sniffled again, and straightened up, shaking his head.

"Sorry." He apologized, shaking his head in a bit of apparent disdain. "I don't…I just…" She waited silently beside him. "Steve." He finished simply, and that was all that needed to be said. She frowned down at her lap.

"Don't apologize, Bucky. It's okay…it's natural to get overcome with everything." He stared at the ground with a tear-streaked face, and she stared at him and bit her lip. "You know…I can call Steve." Bucky glanced over at her, and swallowed.

"No. It isn't that. He's just the biggest reminder of my past life. It reminds me of everything I once was and…everything I'm not anymore." He leaned back beside her. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks from his tired eyes and stopped any words she could offer from coming out. Instead, she merely sat, wishing over and over that she had the power to take his pain away and transfer it to the perpetrators, or even herself rather than him, anything to stop the tears from dripping down his so very doleful face. So lost, defenseless.

And that was when she realized she still had it all wrong even when she thought she finally had it right.

Bellamy needed to be a whole reconstruction team, a builder, who nudged him in the right direction of his future. Somewhere along the way, she had begun to only see his pain. Pitiful was the only thing that came to mind. There was no other colors there in her single selective sight—that's what she had started to believe—but Bucky was a mural consisting of not only bloody crimson, but misty and somber grays and indigos that blossomed to lovely violets and exuberant gold, speckled with bright oranges and yellows all over skies of both blue and black. Beyond the colors, he was hazy. His lines were sharp and sometimes blurry—sometimes they weren't straight or well-defined or able to make any shape at all. And she realized, instead of feeding into her own pity for him, she needed to help him see his own colors—the colors he himself had painted on his own canvas—and that meant opening her own eyes wider to see them first, and the story it created.

"Maybe you don't have Steve, or anything anymore, and maybe it'll work out again someday and you two will be friends again and you'll feel peace…but until then, you have me." He stared at her for a long time, his tears drying.

"Is that why you gave me this book?" She wished she could have said yes, that it had always been her intention, but truthfully, it was what she thought would be a nice way for him to pass time, to take his mind off of things. Maybe it turned out to be more important than that, just like the volunteering trip had been.

"I didn't mean for it to make you cry," She apologized, but smiled in reassurance. "But that's okay. Sometimes you need to." He leaned his head back.

"I wish I could just…unstrap everything. Let it all go." Her smile fell, but his words gave her an idea.

"Maybe you don't need to let it go." He looked at her, and she softly continued on. "Did you know every S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters holds a Wall of Valor? It's a display of heroes to S.H.I.E.L.D. who sacrificed everything selflessly and heroically. Your name is on there, I've seen it more than once. And I can't take you there anymore to see it…but there is somewhere else I can take you with the same significance."

"Why?" He asked, sitting up. They were closer than they'd ever been before, except for the time when he'd had his hand wrapped around her neck, death in his eyes. That had been so long ago, and yet, it still felt like years in comparison to the actual time that had passed.

"Maybe it's not about just letting it all go. You still like hot dogs. You still hate apple. You're still _good_ , just like you always were, and I'm not the only person who thinks that. Maybe you have to remember and keep the important things of who you were, and then just continue to…grow."

And he didn't even ask where, he didn't ask for her to explain any further what she meant; the look of confusion, of aimlessness was overpowered and gone like his tears. Now, he stared back with complete trust, and nodded decisively.

"Take me there."


	15. Ghosts In The Graveyard

It wasn't a Tuesday, but she and Bucky were stopping by Susanna's Café that early morning before their trip, for coffee to go. It was meant to be a quick and subtle in-and-out…but they weren't expecting the McGrath's to be there as well.

"Bellamy! Bennie!" Flora greeted them with excited splendor. "I never thought we'd run into you two on any other day!"

"Something spurred us to stop by here, a bit spontaneously. Great minds think alike, eh?" John said with a tight smile.

"We're actually just stopping by for coffee to go, we've got quite the trip to make." Bellamy explained, trying to be short but courteous.

"A trip?" Flora exclaimed. "Grand, my, to what whereabouts? Are you two flying out somewhere? If it's the Bahamas take me with you!" Bellamy smiled, but knew they were never going to get out if they didn't give a straight answer.

"No, actually, we're off to the Arlington Cemetery, to pay our respects to Sergeant James B. Barnes. His birthday just passed about a month ago, of course, and we figured what better time." There was no way she could have predicted the way John's eyes began to widen.

"Did you say, Sergeant James Barnes? The Howling Commando?" He questioned with more than his usual intenseness.

"Yes, the very one." John stared back with a powerful emotion she couldn't name, and nodded. Bucky was growing concerned beside her; she knew he was wondering if he had somehow committed more atrocities he wasn't aware of, but neither she nor Bucky could have anticipated what was really stirring Mr. McGrath.

"Sergeant Barnes saved my uncle back in the second world war." The look she couldn't name she realized was reverence. Bellamy sent Bucky a pointed look.

"He was a great hero." She agreed meaningfully. Mr. McGrath seemed to have to steady himself.

"We would be honored to join you today in your visit, if you'll have us. I have my own respects to pay." Bellamy glanced first at Bucky, who nodded once, before she nodded too.

"I don't see why not."

* * *

Though the Arlington National Cemetery was expansive, it was almost impossible to miss the great monument near the center of the park. It was beautiful and grand, bronze, and built to be proud and towering with meticulous detail, and Bucky had not taken his eyes off of it for even a second.

"He just…needs a moment." Bellamy murmured quietly to the McGraths. The trio of them stood a bit away behind Bucky, holding two bundles of flowers. Mr. McGrath nodded in easy understanding.

"Of course."

Bucky approached the monument alone, standing and staring upwards first at Steve, and then at each of the men, before he stopped in front of his own. The resemblance to anyone else wasn't there; it was hard to see when he wore a cap with his shoulder-length hair and scruffy facial hair, but at the same time, it was there. She wondered if he saw it too.

As she stood there, the sun in her eyes, she looked away and instead began to gaze over the many gravestones surrounding them, all names of men and women with individual stories she didn't know. It made the corners of her mouth pull down as she realized there were two people buried here, and she knew their stories perhaps all too well.

"Excuse me," she murmured to the couple and took one last glance at Bucky before she started away silently. Despite never coming back, she knew exactly where to go. When her father had been buried, every detail of the ceremony had been engrained in her head, maybe even more so when she attended her brother's funeral. At that point in her life, she'd actually began to wonder whether she or her mother would be the last of their family standing.

Soon, her steps slowed, because she could see a name coming into view. Scott Burke, it read simply. Her father was always a short-and-sweet kind of man. Maybe she was like him in that way. A little ways away was Bronson Burke. There was a knot forming in her throat. It felt too surreal.

When her father had passed, she thought only of ways she could make him proud from that point on. He was a steady but commanding force demanding change, demanding peace of the world. She wanted to be relaxed but firm in her conquests; different means for the same cause. When her brother passed…it defined her life. He believed so much in S.H.I.E.L.D., in serving, she now wondered if she only joined S.H.I.E.L.D. to carry on his belief, in his memory. All for naught.

It took her a moment, staring at two white marble grave markers, to realize these two men—the most important men in her life—gave theirs so she could continue on. Her ability to take in air, albeit shakily at the moment, was a gift.

 _You'll have to kill me before I ever let you hurt my girl._

Her breath hitched; it was almost as if she could even hear those words coming from her father's tone. Did his voice waver? At what point in her speech did his heart stop?

 _Take me. Leave her alone_.

Bronson's death had been more traumatic. That day, in a windowed elevator overlooking Kuwait, she thought her biggest problem was getting stuck in the elevator and being late to their meeting. Until the Winter Soldier pulled the shaft open. She'd always thought her brother was fighting to stay in the elevator with her. Her knees grew weak under her as she realized he'd been fighting to get out, to keep her safe.

Now on her knees, she was closer to the names. She read them both over and over until she didn't know what they meant, until she couldn't read them anymore with her blurred vision of tears. A gasp escaped her as she touched both of the headstones with both hands. Her heart twisted in her chest—she couldn't take the feeling. Harshly, she blinked the tears away and shoved herself to her feet. When she turned away on her heel, she ran straight into him. Bucky. It was Bucky.

At the sight of her, ragged, his eyes darkened in concern, his face pleading, but also understanding and willing to accept all of her hate, and she realized she recognized the look. He wanted to take her pain away, just as she had wanted to take his.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, as though he couldn't breathe himself. If she started swinging at him in that moment, he would've taken it. "I'm sorry," he would keep saying with each punch she gave him. But she didn't. She couldn't. It was never going to help her; their agony was mutual.

Crying wasn't helping her either, but she couldn't stop it, even when Bucky's own face broke more and more with each tear that slid down at hers. Helplessly, he stood in front of her. Realization struck her as harsh as lightening to her heart as she noticed the black makeup stain on her brother's shirt. Helplessly, she walked straight into him, pressing her face against his chest.

And after a moment, she felt his hand against the small of her back. Then the other, against her shoulder blades, until he was gently holding her to him. His touch was only there if she really focused on feeling it, but once she did there was no way to ignore it—really, it felt as if he were holding her together. Slowly then, she raised her own arms, and they could barely find their way completely around his torso. Her fingers latched together behind his back, and after she sniffled, she realized there was a faint sound to be heard over the silence between them. His heartbeat was beside her ear, pounding fast. Steady. Bellamy focused on the sound of it. Eventually it slowed, and as it did, her tears stopped.

He was musky and disheveled, and the longer her arms stayed pressed against his back, she could feel the layered fabric was damp. It was a warmer day in D.C. and he was much too layered. It didn't bother her. He never let go, not until she pulled back lightly.

His face was rosy and not the one she'd been imagining in her mind. She focused on it, studying and pressing into her mind his features and allowed her mind to scream at her how very wrong it was, being in the arms of her brother's physical killer. She switched her mind off to listen to him as his lips parted to speak, hesitantly briefly, before he said,

"I hate seeing you cry." Apologetic. Ashamed. Somehow, his cheeks grew redder. It wasn't something she was used to as a person, but she stood there, and she turned her heart on, listened, and waited. His arms were comforting in a clumsy way, wanting to comfort but not knowing how. It was helping though, even if he didn't know. And so, she pressed her face back to his chest and forgave her shame.

"I'm okay." She told him when she could finally pull away. "It's the first time I've been back since they passed." Her hands rubbed her eyes, ridding them of their blurriness. Bucky stood back, his eyes distant.

"I was here before." He told her. "Before I ever started looking for you, I was looking for me. I went to the Smithsonian a lot, it was the only place that helped. I found out I was supposed to be buried here. One night, I came here, but I didn't know what I was looking for."

"You were just a ghost." She murmured in understanding and he turned to her. "That's what they always called you."

"Fitting. Ghost. I didn't know who I was, it didn't help me."

"Does it help now?" She asked. He swallowed, and she wondered the same, glancing back at the gravestones. "Well, let's go back. Maybe I can help." She tore her eyes away and reached down and grabbed the bouquet that she never noticed slip from her hands.

"Wait," he said, grabbing her arm just like the day at the hot dog stand, though this time, he was gentler. "Maybe I can too." He slid his hand down her arm until it reached the bouquet. "May I?" She frowned but let him take it. Carefully, he divided the flowers in half.

"…What are you…" But it was clear what his intentions were. With somber movements he leaned down and placed half of the white carnation bouquet in front of her brother's grave, and paused, handing her the second half. She accepted it, but kept one flower before she carefully placed the remaining down over her father's resting place. He raised an eyebrow and she invited him to walk with her with a gesture of her head. "C'mon. I still have to honor another fallen hero."

The McGraths were still there in front of the monument, standing now with another elderly couple. They had placed their bouquet of poppy flowers down already amongst the many other gifts adorning the monument.

"If it weren't for Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers, my uncle most certainly would have passed in combat, and I very well could be here visiting him." John was saying as they got closer. "Instead, I grew up with a father figure in my life. I owe these men everything." Bellamy quietly placed the single white carnation down at the foot of Bucky's statue.

"It's always nice to see younger folk understanding the importance of those before us." The unknown woman told them with a polite smile. She had short dark gray hair, with extra wrinkles around her eyes and deep parenthesis on either side of her mouth.

"Yes, our history is very important." Bellamy replied graciously, and glanced at Bucky before going on. "Every child is taught nowadays in history about the Howling Commandos, and their impact, along with their sacrifice, and how Sergeant Barnes was the only one to give his life in service. We came today to honor him. Often times, the focal point was placed on Captain America, but even he has gone on record to say how much the Howling Commandos depended on Barnes. He was their protector, and he died doing just that. He died a hero much too soon before his time."

"There's nothin' more tragic than a man who never got to start his life." The unknown elderly man agreed solemnly. "A man that noble deserved that, at the very least." Bucky swept his gaze over each of his former comrades while his finger swiped over the raised names, lingering over his own. He ran his finger over it again and again.

"I hope one day I can become as good a man as any of these." It was a side comment, not really meant to be heard by anyone else but himself. But she was there, right beside him, and she did hear it.

* * *

It was Bucky's suggestion that they go out to the rooftop that night. He'd said nothing more of their visit, not yet, but she held onto the hope that he would while the moonlight bathed them. She herself, she couldn't stop thinking of how somehow, helping Bucky always coincided with helping herself. And help had never been so ambiguous in her life, after working with agencies that specialized in the act. Help wasn't supposed to hurt like this.

Sometimes help was climbing a mountain you never thought you could, and not realizing how much it strengthened your body until you needed it for feats of strength you never knew you could accomplish. The heart, the mind, the body, the soul, they all worked the same in that way. Help wasn't just taking a problem away with a hug. But then…she glanced over at Bucky, and realized, maybe it was.

"Do they really teach you all that in school?" He'd reached the point where his thoughts were gathered and he could speak now.

"They really do. Although, I may be a bit more of an expert than the average person." Bucky nodded slowly.

"Standing there…it felt like no one knew me better than you." Bellamy leaned closer to the edge to inspect the road below them. The busy streets were very much like her jumbled thoughts, so she directed her gaze instead up towards the tranquil moon.

"Well. I think there's one person who knows you better than I do. Than anyone." Bucky stared too at the moon from beside her.

"I can't go to Steve yet." And she wondered why, considering Steve probably had better means of helping him. "Besides. Steve isn't going through the same thing we are." She looked at Bucky and he looked at her, and understood. "I know I can't get to where I want to be alone. I need your help." But how?

"…Of course, Bucky. But…I don't even know what I'm doing. I'm only trying my best."

"I know, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate that. And that's it. It's all I need." She stared at him and he chuckled, but it sounded like shame. "Back at the cemetery when I found you crying and you hugged me…I can't even imagine how hard that was for you to do, just trying to make me not feel guilty." As she stared at his face, now washed silver, she could only shake her head.

"Bucky…" she began but didn't even know where to begin. How could they be on the same page but not at the same time? "I wasn't trying to help you, in that moment. You were helping me."

"But…" Maybe she wasn't the only one that thought it felt wrong—no, it didn't feel wrong. It was supposed to be wrong, but it didn't _feel_ wrong.

"It wasn't "right", that's what you're thinking, right?" He studied the ground with lines in his forehead. "That's what my mind kept telling me. Standing there, close as I could be to my brother and father, and there you were, standing in my brother's shirt..."

"What?" He demanded, looking up sharply. "These are your _brother's_ clothes?" He began inspecting his arms and the fabric with a swiftly growing sickness. She merely nodded. He gave her the same look, before he started shaking his head and began to pull at the bottom of the shirt. She stopped him, grabbing his wrists with her hands. "I can't wear these!" He snapped.

"I'm the one that gave them to you." She told him.

"Because you had to!" He argued back fiercely. She left her hands locked around his wrists and he stared at her without any sense of understanding and she glared back at him firmly, but could feel her eyes beginning to water. Every ounce of fight in him immediately waned.

"I have tried everything. Since day one. To just try and force myself to move on." He dropped his head. "And the only thing that's worked was letting my heart tell me what was right. I listened to your heartbeat and I listened to my own. We're different people now, Bucky." She moved her finger under his chin and made him look up. "We have to be. We have to move on." Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes and his mouth opened in silent pained argument he couldn't find the words to start. "You're one of the only people I would let wear them." He stared between her eyes helplessly, shaking his head.

"Stop lying to yourself." She bit her lip so hard it nearly bled.

"I forgave you Bucky. A long time ago. It isn't me anymore, it's you. You have to forgive yourself. You have to understand how good you are. Please." He finally stopped trying to remove the shirt and she let go, turning away to look out at the city. After a moment, she felt a hand on her shoulder, slightly pulling in the direction back to him, but not enough to force her to. Willingly, she took a few steps back, standing with her back against his chest and his arm wrapped around her, resting now against her collarbones.

This hug wasn't clumsy. It wasn't conventional, but it was a hug, his hug, and it was enough.

"I'll never stop apologizing. I'll never stop feeling guilty." He said lowly behind her ear, his voice raspy. She shook her head ever so slightly.

"You shouldn't feel guilty."

"I do."

She stood there for a moment longer before she turned back to face him.

"I'm tired of crying today. And…you do hate seeing me cry, right?" One corner of his mouth upturned, but he was still frowning, worried. "When I was younger, I was smart enough to know I could win an argument with Bronson by crying, that was until I just outsmarted him the rest of the time. But when I would cry, my father would take me to the kitchen and put me on the counter and we'd eat raw cookie dough. A little bit of health hazard, in retrospect, but nothing ever happened." He smiled lightly.

"So you're saying?"

"…I'll do everything I can to help you, Bucky…as long as you eat cookie dough with me right now." Something like relief washed over his face, and he let out a soft chuckle.

"I can't imagine a better trade off."

 **A/N: The next chapter will be another from Bucky's POV and I'm very excited to write it and the next chapter. Thanks again for reading and as always feedback is more than welcome and _always_ appreciated! **


	16. She Comes with the Dawn

**A/N: Thank you Kane for your heartwarming review! To everyone else, thank you for continuing to read! xx**

It wasn't as if the bad things ever went away. They never disappeared. In actuality, every second Bucky spent alone with himself it was as if he discovered more and more bad, riddled within himself and his past. Every piece of information just seemed to keep piling onto him, every heartless act he committed, until the infamous Winter Solider was burning in agony underneath ice. Trapped in hell.

But that was only part of his time, and that was the beginning; if you'd asked him while he was beginning to realize just how much his body was blistering, he would have undoubtedly believed it was all somehow going to get worse. After-all, he deserved it. But it didn't.

She was there, and she was the sun. It wasn't hot. The rays didn't sear his skin, they were fingers that dared to not only touch but warm the metal and paint it gold. It was the sensation he had been searching for the day after his first shower, standing out alone on the balcony. He felt so cold, he just wanted the sun to warm him up, to warm his soul, but it could never penetrate deeply enough. But Bellamy was strong and insistent, and that's what she was doing. Thawing him out.

At first, she seemed to be a distraction to his suffering, a mental block he could put up to foil everything traumatic. Every night when he thought he'd never see morning and would never be able to pull himself out, she came with the dawn like some angel sweeping her wings up and putting a stop to it all. And the bad things stayed, but it never got worse.

In a way now, he was trapped again. No longer in ice, he now found himself willingly in a cage she'd constructed. Cages weren't supposed to be synonymous with freedom, but Bucky wasn't someone who was supposed to be free. He was a threat, he knew it, but he also knew now that was only one part of him. He was capable of being something else, but only because she'd invited him into this cage, made up undoubtedly from the broken pieces of her own heart. And it wasn't confining; he had more than enough room to run and breathe and live finally. He looked at her and knew very well if he ever broke out, if the Winter Soldier forced him out, he could kill her. He would kill her if he were free. And so, he didn't want to be free when he could be chained to her. Bucky looked at his reflection and couldn't even see himself anymore. He was unrecognizable, but he had an identity now. He was no longer a ghost. And she smiled when she looked at him, so he began to look to her instead of a reflection.

The more he thought about it, staring up at the dark celling of her apartment night after night, he realized how lucky his circumstances actually were. It was nice now, sitting in the warmth of what felt like a low lamplight. Everything light, any kind of light, metaphorical like the kind people talked about seeing after a near-death experience or just the sunlight outside, it all reminded him of her. Someone with that kind of radiance…he couldn't believe he'd almost put that light out. Bucky always felt like he was missing half of himself lately, but with her, he felt like he didn't really have to be whole yet. He was who he was in this current wreck that sufficed for a state, and that was okay. And maybe he didn't have Steve, maybe sometimes he didn't even have himself, but he had her.

Living in the now was important, smelling the roses was what you were supposed to do. So, he couldn't dwell on his crimes, but he couldn't sleep. Instead, he began submerging himself in her book. How ironic, he thought; she had so many books and somehow still didn't realize how significant her own was. He knew the minor characters involved in her life, he knew she was lost—like him—but somehow she was still superior. She'd probably be even better off if she hadn't taken a wrong turn in her life and found him, but with him, it was almost as if needed her in his, to guide him as she was. It was entirely unfair to her, to be burdened and forced with that duty.

And that seemed to scare him the most. Her sympathy and help seemed so genuine, and if it wasn't, if she still held hatred for him he couldn't blame her, but the idea of it or perhaps even the idea of her lying to herself about him terrified him.

For a woman who only thought of herself as boring, as an agent riddled with a life of lies—telling them, receiving them—she was so much more that he couldn't even explain. He believed it when she told him most thought she could be a ballerina, what with the grace she held and the fluidity she walked with. Bellamy Burke could be anything she wanted, a woman that changed the world, the kind of woman that caused wars, a woman who stopped them, perhaps even a muse to an artist; she was the type of woman who would mean the world to the one man she chose. She was all that underneath a serious façade she sometimes still wore, when she pretended to prefer straight black coffee, and he had a feeling she had a lot of people fooled with her steel eyes and slacks.

Her entire life, her story, revolved around him. And that was the most unfair thing he could ever think about, how this woman had never been able to experience peace because of him and his actions. And Bucky hated it. It was the worst story he could imagine, but he couldn't stop reading.

* * *

"You know," Mrs. McGrath smiled at Bellamy but lingered looking at Bucky. "Food _is_ the way to a person's heart." The finally perfect apple pie was sitting on the table between them, still warm and wafting cinnamon. Bellamy only smiled as though the words were small talk before walking away to order their drinks at the counter. On the other hand, Bucky felt prickly.

"Not Bellamy's, dear." John quipped beside her. He inspected Bucky with narrowed eyes before he leaned closer to him. "Has she told you she adores Broadway shows?" He treated his whisper as though it were a careful secret. Maybe it was.

"No." John nodded slowly, thoughtful.

"She's never even been, never treated herself to it, but she talks about them as if she's been a lifelong enthusiast. There's something grand about it, I think she adores the idea. Dressed to the nines with interesting company." He smiled again, a slow-moving grin. "Any man after her heart will find success with that." Bucky pressed his palms against his jeans to let the fabric take away the clamminess they held.

"…I don't really have nice clothes." Bucky dismissed the idea, but glanced over his shoulder to Bellamy as she stood waiting by the counter, chatting with the young girl in an apron who made the coffee. As he wondered what intricacies of her life she was sharing with this stranger, his mind drifted to imagining what she'd look like in a nice flowy dress.

"Well…" Bucky turned back to John and saw the narrow-eyed gaze back. Beside him, Flora looked to be growing giddy. "Look no further." Bucky blinked, realizing it was an offer.

"Oh. Uh…" He glanced back to Bellamy and realized he'd been caught. She smiled at him, an easy one that came like the breeze, straight at him. It made him turn back around to face the McGraths quickly again. A bit regretfully, he said, "I can't really afford Broadway tickets right now." He expected awkward condolences, but the couple only continued to smile at him, as if they had expected his answer to be that.

"Where there's a will, there's always a way." John said, clasping his hands together in front of him on the table. It hit him right there in the coffee shop that Bellamy's story was still in progress, with him in it, and while he wanted her to find her own peace, he knew he was a piece involved in that now. It was a gift, an opportunity in front of him for him to take if he could only do it. He wanted himself to change, he wished peace for this poor girl he had destroyed, and it finally dawned on him that maybe both were accomplishable.

* * *

The only way to describe Bucky's behavior was weird. Ever since they'd left the coffee shop, he appeared perpetually embarrassed. Every time Bellamy would ask a question, he seemed to jump out of his thoughts. She touched his hand briefly, accidentally, when she passed the salt and he nearly dropped it on the spot.

"Careful, they say that's bad luck." It was her attempt at breaking the crackling ice between them that turned out to be poor; he stopped chewing his food immediately with a panicked expression. Needless to say conversation was nonexistent the rest of the night.

"Well, um…goodnight." Bellamy told him hesitantly, lingering awkwardly in the living room after the night dragged to a close. He had his back to her, sitting on the couch with the notebook in his lap, the pen tapping against it, before the motion stopped. Barely looking over his shoulder, with a low voice, he answered back.

"Goodnight." But it didn't sound complete like it normally did. Even still, once in her room, she forced herself to shut the door, though she remained right behind it, staring at it. Of course, she didn't think herself entitled to know every single emotion he was feeling, or every problem he was having, but it did bother her, not knowing. And somehow it felt like it involved her, whatever was on his mind.

She made herself walk to her bed and even pull the sheets back, after-all it was ridiculous to think his thoughts could be that centered on her. As soon as she tried to get in bed, though, she could only grimace and paced back to the door as though her body was on autopilot. Her hand reached for the door knob, but with a shake of her head she pulled back and turned back to her bed. But as she stared at it, empty, she knew she wouldn't be able to fall asleep in it until she at least tried to talk to him.

"Dammit." She muttered as she turned on her heel and yanked open the door, only to gasp at seeing Bucky standing there, his hand raised to knock. At the sight of her, he jumped, his eyes wide and mouth popping open.

They stared at each other with a delay of shock.

"What—"

"Let's do something Friday night." He blurted out, cutting her off and stunning her back into silence.

"…Okay." She agreed blindly when she could speak again. "What do you need to do?" This had to be it, the cause for his behavior.

Bucky struggled to swallow, and took a breath.

"Something I…" He swallowed again, and blinked as he looked down, before he looked up again and locked eyes with her. "Something I want to do." Her eyes narrowed as she tried to comprehend his request. "But I can't tell you." She frowned now. "Just trust me, okay?"

"But…" She began, but trailed off at the sudden plea of desperation on his face.

"Please?" He asked.

"Okay." She agreed, staring back at him and not having any idea what she was getting into. It made her wonder just how much more she would agree to if he only asked.


	17. Happy to Help You Help Me

Upon remembering it was Friday, Bellamy jerked awake in her bed to see it was morning. The next thing she noticed was Bucky, who jumped as she sat upright at the sight of him. She let out a breath and shook her head.

"Sorry…" He apologized, and she noted he had his baseball cap on. "Good morning. I'm, uh, leaving." The alarm must have been more than obvious on her face. "Just for a bit, I have to do some…things first. I'll be back at 5, though. For our night out." She only stared at him, taking in all the information.

"Where are you…can't you just, tell me?" She asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"It's a surprise." He said, and when she felt herself glowering, he smiled faintly. "Five o'clock, I promise." With that, he left, without any more information. When she looked out the window overlooking the street below, she noticed Mr. McGrath immediately, waiting on a bench. He stood and greeted Bucky with a hug when he walked out of the apartment building, and they set off together.

 _What the hell_ , she thought to herself, and it was the only thought that kept her occupied until the smell of coffee hit her nose. Bucky had made coffee, and she stared at it blankly, wondering how he knew how to work the machine before she realized he must have just watched her more than enough times. There was a note on the counter beside it.

 _For as long as you pretend to like it._

She snorted to herself after she read it, before she poured a cup and tried her hardest not to grimace after she took a drink, but she still did. Her lips were torn between wanting to scowl and smirk at the same time.

"Alright, Barnes, whatever." She grumbled under her breath, but kept the note.

Wasting the day until five was hard. Being alone in her apartment suddenly felt strange despite it being the norm before Bucky came along. However, as the clock crept closer, she suddenly found herself wishing she had more time again as she inspected her closet.

What exactly was she supposed to wear, she didn't even know where they would be going or what they would be doing. He had only said night out…something he _wanted_ to do. What could that possibly be? She tried to imagine a pastime he'd find interesting, but couldn't name one.

Night out…night out…

Bellamy tentatively allowed her mind to wander into the unlikely scenario that Bucky had actually meant…a date. A date? No. She shoved the dresses she had hanging to the side harshly. He would have just said it was a date, if that were the case. No…this most certainly definitely was not the case at all. But she just couldn't convince herself completely of that, and she realized maybe there was a part of her that was hoping it was true.

"I hate surprises." She grumbled to herself, trying to blame her flustered feelings on something else as she shuffled through her closet a second time. It was almost embarrassing that she was so indecisive and she almost forced herself to nonchalantly pull an everyday outfit to stop the scenarios she was envisioning, but she stopped herself with a sigh and kept digging. Her annoyed motions paused as she noticed a dress, and after hesitating, she allowed herself to inspect it.

Despite it being her favorite color, it was the only green thing she owned. It was crisp and clean, and came to a stopping point right below the knee. It also gave the illusion of being a short-sleeved button down peplum top with a frame-hugging—but not tight by any mean—pencil skirt. There was something more to it however, the modest sweetheart neckline, padded sleeves, and the bow on the front all made her realize it was not only retro-inspired, but something that looked right out of the 1940's.

The longer she stared at it, the harder it was to find a reason to resist at least trying it on, which turned out to be a mistake. For some reason, she didn't want to take it off.

Only when she was in the middle of curling her hair did she realize somewhere along the way she began to treat this night out as a date. The butterflies in her chest made it impossible for her to run from that belief. Staring into the mirror felt odd, maybe it was the face full of makeup. She appeared to be the same unassuming woman she once had been only a few months back, but her eyes had never looked this bright. She never wore red lipstick out.

Without anything else to do as the clock ticked, and feeling vain staring in the mirror, she walked to her living room and began to pace. Her heart was noticeably pounding and she couldn't remember to save her life if Bucky had ever actually called it a night out. Just as she was beginning to start back to her room to change after second-guessing herself for too long, there were two strong knocks. It was exactly five o'clock.

Bellamy swore her hand was shaking as she slowly began to unlock the door, and decided she could get over her momentary embarrassment with a quick apology and ask for a minute to change into something much more sensible. With that plan locked in her mind, she swung the door open.

"I'm sorry, I—…" Her words died in her throat when she actually laid eyes on him. It was Bucky, but it almost wasn't. This man had clean and soft looking hair that nearly touched the shoulders of his classic black suit and tie combo, and in one hand he held a bouquet of ruby red roses. When her eyes climbed back up to his, he appeared to be just as stunned.

"What?" He asked in a dreamlike state.

"...Huh?" She asked back, her mouth unable to fully close. Their eyes did the same darting dance, the pair of them drifting back and forth in a conflict of interest between their eyes and their bodies.

"You were saying…something?" They just continued to stare at each other. Every former worry in her mind was completely gone now, but then, she couldn't exactly think straight. She began to shake her head slowly side to side, and began to smile, a small slow growing one.

"You look…very…" the smile now danced on her lips. "Very handsome." He blinked several times before averting his eyes to the ground and seemed to notice then the bouquet of flowers in his hand. Staring at them, he offered them towards her silently. "Oh." She said as she took them, still in some kind of state of shock even though she'd already seen them. "I don't believe…this is…" she looked up from the flowers back to Bucky and noticed him growing quickly concerned.

"Does this…did I do something wrong?" He asked, quickly, hands raised as if he were ready to fix something physically.

"No, no, not at all. This is just…" She smiled at him genuinely. "Really sweet and unexpected. Thank you, give me a sec." He waited patiently at the door while she placed the flowers in a vase with water before she rejoined him and locked up the apartment. "So, can I ask now where we're going?"

"It's still a surprise."

Outside, she began to retrieve her keys, but Bucky stopped her.

"Are we walking somewhere?"

"No. We're taking a taxi." She blinked at him and watched him almost dumbfounded as he hailed a cab confidently and held the door open for her expectantly. With a pursed but relaxed smile, she got in.

"Bucky," she began as he got in beside her.

"70 West 45th Street off 6th Ave, to the Butter restaurant, please." He instructed and her eyes widened; it was Food Network's own executive chef Alex Guarnaschellis' pricey restaurant in Midtown Manhattan. Truthfully, she'd never imagine stepping foot inside and only had once, on an assignment with Phil Coulson.

"Wait, Bucky," she protested. "That's…quite an exclusive restaurant. You need reservations, sometimes they—"

"Bellamy," he interrupted her calmly and seemed to be stifling a smile. "You really don't seem to have a whole lotta faith in me." She stopped immediately as she stared at him.

"What is happening right now?" He smiled now in full on amusement at her bewilderment. She had so many questions, obvious ones such as where he'd gone today for so long and where he'd gotten the suit, but also ones she couldn't ever bring herself to ask, like about the roses or what that look in his eyes had meant when she'd opened the door.

"You're one of those people who just have to have all the answers, aren't you? What happened to being spontaneous?" She pursed her lips together again. "I promise you don't have to worry about one single thing tonight, alright?" She nodded reluctantly. "So no more questions."

"Can I ask just one?" She spoke up after a moment and he stared back so she took it as a yes. "Why did you want to do this? With me…?" His jaw clenched as he thought.

"I can't really explain it."

"Can you try?"

"Can I have until the end of the night?" For some reason it made her smile, but she still nodded, satisfied for the time being.

* * *

Inside the restaurant, somehow they were only amongst the people dressed nicely; there were even ritzier crowds lingering about. Bucky gave the front desk the name under the reservation, Bennie Taylor. At their table, he pulled out her chair for her.

Sitting together, they looked at the menu in silence. It was hard not to focus on the prices, it hurt to even acknowledge them. Bucky cleared his throat beside her.

"Expensive, right?"

"Over-priced," he agreed with a short chuckle, but he looked away from the menu to her with a small smile. "You can order anything you want." She frowned a bit, but went back to narrowing her options down to the cheapest meals.

When asked if they were interested in a bottle of champagne or a glass of red wine, Bucky had sent her somewhat of a teasing glance, but she had refused politely.

"It's not one of those night, huh?" He teased her more after.

"Hm, no, tonight isn't the best for drunken confessions." She replied back, but she smiled wryly at him. "In case you couldn't tell, I'm more of a lightweight and hardly a drinker."

Once they had ordered fancy plates of chicken and salmon respectively, they were surrounded in an even more blatant bubble of silence.

"You're going to have to be the one to ask the questions," She told him, trying to keep a serious face as she crossed her leg. "Of course, since I'm not allowed." He rolled his eyes, but smiled back.

"I would guess you've been here before?" She almost wanted to say no, to just lie.

"Yes. For work. Of course. So, in a way, I suppose I actually haven't on account that I didn't exactly enjoy myself, no matter how important I felt." She sighed a bit. Bucky had a bit of a frown on his features.

"Well, maybe we should have ordered the wine. Changed that." He tried. She stared back at him; it seemed wrong to be having such a heart-opening experience in a place that just seemed so fit to throw back a cocktail and laugh glamorously with shallow company. But neither of them lived a lie anymore, they were trying to live a new truth.

"It's all changed already." She swallowed before she added, "Since the moment I met you." He frowned more, trying to speak, but she shook her head. "No, please. Let me finish…it's not a bad thing at all. Far from it. It's all very…odd, I can't understand it. But, Bucky Barnes, you're making me realize I never even began my life, and…you never got to live yours and maybe…there's a reason that it's turning out this way."

He stared at her for a long while, before he stared at his glass of water, bit his lip, and fixed his gaze on her. His mouth opened and she could tell that he wanted to say something that he couldn't allow himself to share.

"…Maybe so." He said instead, and she smiled in understanding, reassuring; she had to accept however slow he needed to go. She didn't regret or try to retract her statement, because it was the truth.

"So you never got dressed up to take a lucky girl out on a fancy dinner date?" She asked, lightening her tone.

"No," he replied as he took a drink. "I was saving that for a special girl." When he looked back at her with a half-smile she wasn't exactly prepared, nor was she prepared for the swarm of butterflies in her chest trying to break their way out.

As they ate, Bellamy couldn't help but notice how Bucky only used one hand. His left hand, his metal hand, the one closest to her, was tucked away under the table out of sight. But she made no comment about it.

Now, conversation flowed naturally and it was hard to believe there had ever been a point earlier in the evening when they weren't talking. Evidently, there was more to learn about one another. She told him how her brother was the one who took her out when she turned 21, how he was an attention-loving man's man on the opposite spectrum of attention-loving men like Stark. He told her of his loving mother and the puppet-shows he would perform for his sisters whenever they got sick, and sometimes he'd tease Steve with them too when he inevitably got sick. The more they shared, the more she realized how rich a person's life could be, filled every second with moments that could be considered memorable, or even unmemorable depending on the person. But she looked at Bucky, and decided she wanted to know it all and wondered if he felt the same.

It would have been more than easy to joke about how much of a natural charmer he must have been in his day; she could see glimpses of a man who undoubtedly broke many girls' hearts unknowingly. It would have been easier to tease him about his clumsy pieces of conversation, but she never did. He was charismatic and assured one moment, and then awkward and unsure the next, but the more time that passed, the more his eyes shined and the more he talked comfortably.

Even though they were both thinking it, about how maybe they didn't exactly belong in a place like this, it was lovely and she realized it wouldn't have been the same with anyone else. With anyone else, it would have been another obligation.

"Can I get you two anything else?" The swanky middle-aged waiter asked them as they were finishing up.

"No, thank you." Bucky told him, and frowned when he noticed him hesitating. Bellamy wondered if perhaps he hadn't understood what Bucky had said, but then she followed his gaze to the table where Bucky's metal hand was resting beside his drink. Immediately, he removed it from sight and placed it on his leg.

"That'll be all." Bellamy prompted firmly, smiling with cold politeness up at the waiter. "Thank you." He blinked, drawing his gaze away before he halfway nodded and hurried away. The disruption transferred to tension between the two, as Bucky stared down at the table, the life seemingly sucked out of him.

"Bucky?" She asked hesitantly, her voice feeble. He said nothing.

Subtly, lightly, she reached over underneath the table and found his hand. It twitched underneath her touch, but he didn't pull his hand away, and gingerly, she laced her fingers through his. "You shouldn't be ashamed of this." She insisted. He finally glanced up at her, though not entirely.

"It all feels a little dumb, now." He admitted, his voice low. "Talking about my past, when I was normal. I'm never going to get that back. I'm the farthest thing from normal."

"You're absolutely right, you know." She replied calmly and he looked up, something like sorrowful acceptance in his eyes. She gripped his hand tighter. "You're pretty incredible." The sorrow faded to surprise and she smiled assuredly in hopes that he would smile back. He did.

"You know, I'm supposed to be the one complimenting you."

"Well, my mom always said compliments are free and an honest one you really mean can make all the difference…I think it would be shameful on my part to let you think you're nothing short of a wonderful person." He could only duck his head again, but at least this time, his eyes were shining again.

The check came, and it was like looking at the menu prices all over again, but a test result version, and she took it warily while pulling open her purse. Bucky's hand on hers now made her pause.

"And what do you think you're doing?" He asked coolly. She blinked at him and watched him proceed to pull out cash from his pocket. "Didn't I tell you you didn't have a single thing to worry about tonight?" She had no idea what to say, and he seemed to realize that as he developed a half-smile. "I know you said you always pay for yourself but…allow me for once." She couldn't ignore the questions anymore.

"How?" She merely asked. Bucky smiled as he counted out the right amount.

"I didn't rob a bank or anything. I worked out a few things with John. Fixed some loose floorboards, broken pipes. He was pretty generous. He helped out with this too," He said, as he wiggled his tie. She waited until he looked at her.

"It looks very good on you." It was almost like his breath got caught in his throat, and all of his actions paused now to look at her.

"I've been trying all night to work up enough courage to tell you…just how beautiful you look." Now she understood the feeling. "And I mean that." It was just like the day in the coffee shop when all the people faded away and left her alone with him, and the overwhelming bliss bubbling in her chest.

"And it makes all the difference."

* * *

"Thank you for dinner, for everything really, Bucky. Tonight was great," she told him as he hailed another cab. He smiled to himself as one stopped before them.

"And it's only just begun." She frowned as he leaned inside the taxi and gave a location, before he gestured for her to get in. "After you, miss."

"Where are we going?" She asked before she realized her mistake and they shared a smile. "You know, I'm usually not one for surprises…"

"I have a feeling you'll love this one." He glanced at her nervously. "I hope, anyways."

In the taxi for a second time, there was less nervous energy, but still tension between them.

"It's all changed since I met you too." He said suddenly beside her, drawing her attention. He chuckled at himself. "There's a lot of things I've wanted to tell you all night, actually."

"You don't have to right now. There's still night for a long while." Bellamy stared out the window. "You can tell me when you're ready, Bucky."

It was odd being the one who didn't quite know what to expect. Bellamy didn't realize how brave Bucky had been over the last few months to go with her so willingly to places he'd never been, and how much trust that had to entail. It had been a long time since she had felt such a ball of nerves in her stomach. Truthfully, she never really experienced any frivolous schoolgirl rushes of emotion growing up and yet, here they were, seemingly amplified from postponement.

But all of this was nothing compared to when the cab stopped right outside of the Circle in the Square Theatre.

At first she could only gaze out the window with stunned awe and an open mouth, her hands pressing against the window as she tried to get a closer look, not quite believing this was their destination. In question, she turned to Bucky, who was waiting expectantly and nervously with raised eyebrows. She looked back to the theatre and back to him.

"This?" Was all she could ask.

"You've always wanted to see a Broadway show…right?" The breath she'd been holding in her chest popped out in an astonished chuckle as it clicked, and she could feel her eyes watering. Bucky had opened the door and waited for her outside, so she tried to contain her emotion, but couldn't. She stood frozen in front of him.

"I can't…how did you…how…?" The expression on her face was one she couldn't guess; there were too many emotions she could feel inside her, and Bucky was watching her closely with wide concerned eyes.

"This was always the plan. Dinner was just a way to pay you back for everything you've done for me. You deserve to go to nice places. It still isn't enough, but you should do things you enjoy. It's how you find yourself."

"I don't know what to say." She said, shaking her head. Bucky smiled, a nervous shaky one.

"You'll do me the pleasure?" He proposed, pulling two tickets from his pocket. "We're seeing 'Lady Day at Emerson's Bar and Grill.' It's about Billie Holiday." She stared at the tickets, before she threw her arms around his neck in a brief hug. He obliged in the impromptu hug, placing his arms around her waist and chuckling.

"The pleasure is absolutely entirely mine." She grinned up at him and accepted one of the tickets.

Bellamy should have known this was all at the hands of Mr. and Mrs. McGrath; they were the only two she'd ever confided in about Broadway shows. They were well-off, affluent and frugal. Bucky fixed a few odds and ends and was payed handsomely. As for the tickets, Mr. McGrath had a wide network of friends more than willing to do a favor.

They both had reasons to enjoy the show. Bellamy would have enjoyed seeing just about anything, but as it turned out Billie Holiday was just about the best thing they could've watched. Bucky was familiar with her already, and Bellamy was hooked from the first song. The jazz siren's story was one of dark intrigue, but the songs, the songs were lovely, unforgettable, just as the night.

It ended too soon it seemed and they were the last ones out of the theatre. Walking out together side by side, she felt dazed. This emotion was heightened by the brisk air that awaited them.

"Well?" Bucky asked as they waited for a cab. She crossed her arms but grinned up at him.

"It was everything I ever hoped, gosh. I still don't know what to say. She had such a mystique, don't you agree? What a talent, and really that theatre was just intimate enough for the entire production." Bellamy was wondering why Bucky was frowning at her until he began to shrug out of his jacket.

"Here," he told her as he moved behind her with the coat raised and helped her into it. It was big and cozy, and it made her feel warmer than any of her own coats ever could. "Better?"

"Thank you, Bucky," she smiled. "For everything."

Once they were walking back to her apartment, it was really sinking in, the night she just had. And she remembered his words, about the importance of just enjoying herself. Bucky was looking straight ahead beside her, and she wondered what he was thinking. Her heart sped up as she reached out and looped her arm through his. Her sudden act caused a slight disruption in his pace, but they walked on together, and he smiled down at her. Now, she wondered what thoughts sprouted in his head accompanying that smile. She didn't let go until they got to her door.

"Would you like to come inside?" She joked, making him chuckle as he followed in behind her. Despite being inside, she kept his coat on. Bucky went to sit on the love-seat with a grunt, and began undoing the tie and rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. Her eye caught the record player in the corner and she thoughtfully went to inspect her box of records.

It was almost too easy to find what she was hoping for. Soon enough, Billie Holiday filled the room and she threw him an excited grin over her shoulder. He smiled back.

"Lucky us, huh?" She asked as she made her way back towards him. Just as she was about to sit beside him, he stood to his feet and extended his hand towards her.

"May I?" He asked, his voice soft with a look of seriousness on his face. "I think you've been without a dance for long enough." It was hard to swallow.

"I, uh…don't know how." Bellamy tried not to panic as she timidly placed her left hand in his much bigger right. Their fingers intertwined and locked together.

"And you were a dancer?" Bucky teased with a raised eyebrow, and she laughed, but it faltered. His other hand slid to the small of her back, securing her and guiding her closer towards him. "Don't worry, you've got me for a partner. I can show you. There's nothing to it."

It was a rare upbeat Billie Holiday song, one from the show, "What a Little Moonlight Can Do." Bucky was fighting a grin as he stepped back and forward in time with the music, leading her with him. It was quick, but fluid, and picking up pace—there was no way she could ever do this on her own. It was just about the most effortless thing she'd seen him do.

"See, what'd I tell ya?" He said, making her look up from her feet to him. She pursed her lips, but it was hard not to smile.

"Well, maybe—ah!" He stepped farther away from her and let go of her back to twirl her one way, and then another. It was swing, she realized as he twirled her again, they were swing dancing. This time as she twirled and came back around his way, he pulled her with more force, and she gasped and threw her arm around his shoulder as he picked her up with one arm and swung her. Before she knew it she was on her own feet again, their hands clasped and his hand on the small of her back. She laughed in exhilaration.

"See?" He joined in on her laughter, she hadn't stopped yet.

"A little warning would have been nice!" She said, but she couldn't stop beaming and it was almost starting to hurt her cheeks. He seemed to notice as their dancing slowed to a pace she could keep up with.

"I've never seen you smile like this." He said, following his words with a small chuckle that almost sounded full of wonder. Her smile remained steady.

"Well, I've never been swept off my feet."

"If I knew that was all it took I would've done it a long time ago."

The song had changed now to a song that sound much more like Holiday's distinctive style. It was another one of the songs they'd heard at the show, "When a Woman Loves a Man," one of the ones that stuck out to her then and now even more so.

 _Maybe he's not much, just another man_

 _Doing what he can_

 _But what does she care_

 _When a woman loves a man_

They had drifted closer, his cheek sometimes brushing against hers with certain steps. Slow dancing was easier in terms of steps, but it was also harder on her heart, harder to ignore just how wild it was going in stark contrast to their smooth and easy steps.

Her chin found its way to his shoulder, and she could feel his breath near her ear.

"Bellamy," he whispered after a moment. "If you want to stop, we can." He was giving her a way out, he never seemed to trust his actions. She rolled her eyes, a small smile on her lips that he couldn't see.

"That's the last thing I'd like to do." She told him.

"Me too." He confessed. Beneath her hand, his back was supple. "Do you remember how you told me I deserved to be happy? I think about that a lot and that's why I wanted to do this tonight with you. You've spent all your time helping me, I just want to try and…"

"Repay me? Bucky, you know there's nothing to repay. I would have been just as happy at a burger joint. There's not some tally of debt I'm keeping track of. Really, helping you has helped me."

"It isn't just…trying to repay you. It's just, it's kinda the same; making you happy makes me happy." Even if she had words to express just how much her heart was fluttering, there was no way she could speak. "But you did have a nice night? You weren't just…pretending?" It took her a moment.

"Not once. I had the best night."

"Me too. Really, the only thing I can think of that could even rival it was Coney Island, back when Steve and I went." It was another memory remembered, one he could add to a hopefully growing list in his notebook.

"That sound like a lot of fun." She told him idly, already growing used to the way his embrace felt, yawning lightly, though as she thought more and more, she realized there was a question she was dying to have answered. "Bucky…I don't really know how to ask this but…was tonight a…date?" He pulled back, and she did the same, suddenly wide awake and dreadfully nervous.

"I thought the flowers were obvious." She let out a relieved breath and rested her chin on his shoulder again, now able to smile more in the comfort away from his stare.

"I think I didn't want to get my hopes up. But when I put this on...I realized I was treating it like it was one. I just had to know for sure." His hand wrapped around her hip was suddenly the only thing she could notice.

"When you opened the door earlier tonight…" Bucky's murmur was by her ear, husky and low. "I thought I was back in my time. You look just like a girl I could've known."

"Well we're supposed to live in the now, right?"

"Right."

"And I _am_ a girl you know now, right?" He didn't answer. Instead, he twirled her again, careful and slow this time, before he brought her closer and dipped her towards the ground, his hand supporting her back and holding her there. For the first time she really noticed how blue his eyes were, how well they complimented his face.

"Right." He whispered, and she could feel his breath on her face.

"Now you're just showing off." She murmured. He cracked a smile and brought her upright once more.

"I was told I was quite the dancer."

"It shows," she told him glowingly. It was nice to see him almost proud at something that came naturally to him. Without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Did anyone ever tell you you were also pretty incredible?" He swallowed searching her eyes.

"Once. At a fancy restaurant. I was terrified the entire night and she apparently wasn't even sure it was a date the entire time." They chuckled together, but he quickly grew serious again. "She was the most gorgeous girl every place we went to, and I'd love to take her out again sometime." Now, her heart just about stopped all together.

"R-Really?" She stuttered.

"Really."

"…I would love to." She smiled at him, feeling as if her heartbeat had finally pounded for far too long and could finally start to rest, before it drained her completely. "I'll have to check my schedule, but…" Bucky snorted, his eyes shutting in relief. When they opened, he rolled them.

"Has anyone ever mentioned you have the worst sense of humor?"

"I usually avoid making any attempts at it. Usually." They continued to dance together in a slow moving orbit and she was slipping back into that tranquil state of a special kind of tired. It felt like she'd really accomplished something, her day had been meaningful, and sleep promised to be fulfilling.

They'd ended up on the couch halfway through the record, her still in her dress and his coat. He'd excused himself to the restroom and somehow in that short amount of time she had fallen asleep right there on the sofa. She didn't even realize it when she woke up disorientated sometime after midnight to silence, curled up with a blanket draped over her, her heels on the ground. Bucky was still there, looked cramped, but asleep, sitting upright at her feet. And then it hit her.

He was asleep.

She didn't dare move and instead let her eyes shut after she watched his chest rise and fall a few times, drifting back to sleep herself at the sound of his steady breathing.

 **A/N: This was a slightly longer chapter, so as always, thank you for reading and please feel free to let me know any thoughts or opinions!**


	18. Fools

Bellamy's heels clicked on the pavement as she walked confidently towards the tall building in front of her. But she slowed, looking down with a frown at the briefcase she felt in her hands. Her navy blue pantsuit caught her eye next. Slowly, with looming realization, she looked back up and caught sight of the broad-shouldered man walking ahead of her, towards the same building. On the side of the building, she could see the glass elevator, sticking out and gleaming in the sunlight.

"Bronson," she called out, her heels clicking again as she started walking once more. He didn't turn to look back, and her once steady steps now stomped frantically as she ran. "Bronson!" He had reached the entrance and disappeared inside the building.

Inside, it was a hallow building, seemingly empty, with tiled floors and tall windows. Lifeless. "Bronson?" The elevator, the focal point of the room, was straight ahead and closing, with her brother inside. "Bronson, wait!"

Her heels echoed off the walls, distinctively filling the room with substance, as she crossed it. Her finger jabbed the up button harshly, repeatedly, in a frenzied panic, just trying to stop the elevator or bring it back down, rather than letting it climb. The effort was in vain. Next to it, she could see the door leading to the stairwell and she threw herself into it without thinking.

No matter how hard she tried pushing her legs, how hard she willed herself on, she couldn't go any faster. She kept tripping on the steps, but she continued on after each near fall, blind and desperate. It seemed to take forever to get to the 22nd floor. She ran for the door to get off, but paused with her hand on the handle, a cold chill tingling up her spine like someone was behind her. When she breathed out, she could see her breath in front of her. Through the window on the door, she could see the elevator straight ahead. It was stopped on the floor, but the doors remained shut.

Something was pulling her towards the elevator; she couldn't make herself stop walking, though her eyes darted around the hallway. The floor was barren and eerie, worse than the entrance of the building had been, with its flickering lights and chipped walls. Reaching the elevator, she hesitated, catching sight of her wide-eyed horror-struck expression in the gold reflection of the doors. Her hand trembled, she trembled, as she weakly pushed the elevator button to open the door.

The elevator _dinged_ , before the doors parted her face into two and revealed two menacing empty eyes in her place. Shaggy hair framed his face. He was dressed in all black except for his left arm of glinting solid metal, and wielded a knife in his hand.

It was the Winter Soldier.

Inside the elevator behind him, she could see two bodies, each on opposite sides of the elevator, slumped against the glass. Bellamy's breath caught in her throat. She was suffocating and unable to breathe as she stared at the killer in front of her. At the bodies she couldn't look at.

"No," she choked out, beginning to back away and turning on her heel to run back towards the stairwell. Running was just as impossible as before. Her legs couldn't push her away from the horror fast enough, and before she knew it she stumbled and landed on the ground. "No!" Her scream of terror turned to unintelligible shrieking and whimpering as a powerful hand yanked the back of her jacket roughly, ripping the fabric, dragging her towards the elevator. He flung her inside violently and she landed on the ground with a thud, in between the two bodies. Her father and brother. As she stared between them, the blood, their injuries, their unseeing eyes, her own vision blurred.

The Winter Soldier towered over her, staring her down with sinister eyes, and she shrank back against the glass.

"Please…no. Please—please!" The elevator doors closed them in and suddenly he swung and hit the keypad with his arm, knocking the elevator into a free-fall. It left her Immobilized where she was and screaming as they plummeted past the bottom floor down to the basement of the building. They slammed to a stop, their bodies blanketed in the darkness with flashes of red, like siren lights. "No, please…Bucky. Please. Please don't." She sobbed, feeling hot tears rushing down her cheeks. He only stared back blankly.

"You're my mission." He stated mechanically, reaching down and she screeched, fiercely trying to shove away from him.

"Bellamy, wake up!" Her eyes flew up and she gasped, looking into the same blue eyes, feeling the same hands holding her shoulders. It took her a second to realize these eyes were terrified, another second to stop shoving against his grip, to realize this grip on her skin was gentle. The blackness of the elevator was gone. Streaming sunlight had replaced the black and she was on her sofa, not trapped in an elevator.

This was Bucky standing over her, not the Winter Soldier. He waited, watching her closely with complete dread in his eyes.

"Bellamy?" She blinked several times at him before a rush of tears hit her like a tide she couldn't fight and she pressed her hands to her eyes, though the rest of her crumbling face had already betrayed her. "Fuck." He breathed, sinking down to his knees beside her on the floor.

She took a breath to steady herself and blinked up at the ceiling to make sure of her surroundings, and shook her head.

"Just a nightmare." She breathed, and he scoffed bitterly.

"If you heard what I heard just now, you wouldn't just call it a nightmare. You couldn't stop screaming, and you were asking someone to stop. Me. You were asking _me_ to stop." He rubbed his temple, unable to look at her. "I was hurting you."

"I used to get it a lot." Bellamy confessed as she swiped the wetness away from her face. "The same nightmare. Me seeing Bronson from a distance and trying to stop him from getting on the elevator. It was always just that. But this time…the Winter Soldier was there and I was just stuck in the elevator with him."

"With me," he corrected her. Bellamy turned to him. His expression had changed from that of dread and horror to smoldering anger, like the heat of blue embers in a fire. Whenever he gave in to his demons and allowed himself to hate the person he'd been, it was always a different kind of anger, a different kind of hate. Brooding. This was fire.

"Not you." She tried to reason, though her voice was shaky.

"Yes, Bellamy, with me. That is me. And you can't even wake up and tell yourself it's not real because it is and you have every reason to—"

"Stop," she sat up now. He began shaking his head, his eyes clenching shut. When he opened them, pointing directly at her, the blue within them seemed to be leaking out, threatening to drain his eyes of the color and leave them like empty coloring book pages.

"I'm sorry." He whispered helplessly in remorse as he blinked up at her. Helpless. "I'm sorry, Bellamy. I keep making you cry, the things I've done to you, their impact…I mean, I don't have any right complaining about not sleeping when you're having nightmares like this, nightmares I caused. Why have you been trying so hard to help me—it should be me helping you." He stopped himself with a long sigh and a bitter smirk. "But I can't help you. That's just the thing."

"Bucky…"

"I could do everything in my power to make your life a good one, but I still can't erase everything I've already done, everything I've fucked up."

"Okay, enough." She said, swinging her legs around the side of the love-seat. She leaned forward to talk to him. "Neither of us can control the dreams we have, you—"

"If it weren't for me you wouldn't be _having_ nightmares like that in the first place. You should've never let me stay here, having me around you is doing no good—what am I doing for _you_? I have a nightmare, you come running. I can't say I'd do the same; you can't trust me—I can't even trust me. If you needed me, I'd be ducking for cover like a coward, I—" She stretched her hand out and lightly pressed it to the side of his cheek.

"Hey," she stopped him, looking him in his eyes. "Don't do this to yourself." He tried to catch his breath after rambling, staring back at her with miserable eyes. He leaned away from her hand and shook his head.

"Why are you wasting your time on me?" He whispered. It was very surreal, sitting here where they had just danced not even 24 hours ago, the both of them still dressed up. That atmosphere was gone, like a magic trick.

"I'm not wasting my time. I can see who you really are."

"There's nothing but spilled blood, that's all I am. I'm a weapon. I only bring bad into people's lives." He stood up, pacing. "Why did you even let me take you out anywhere last night, what was I thinking? Why did I ever entertain that idea, why did you?"

"We've talked about this. Agreed. We would both try and move on, leave the past in the past and try to stop and smell—"

"The roses, the roses." She flinched as he swiped the vase with the roses off the counter. It shattered on the ground with a large crash. "I can't just _pretend_ everything's fine!" He yelled. She stood up and they stared at each other, and that's when she heard it; the silence. The kind you couldn't ignore because it was screaming.

Bucky's jaw clenched and she herself didn't know what to say to help anymore, not when she only felt like a fool. With nothing to offer, she made her way to her room and shut the door behind her.

Her eyes stared blankly at the door, and Bucky's yell kept ringing in her head, about pretending. There was nothing that could more accurately describe her other than a fool playing pretend. All she wanted to do was completely shut down her heart because now she knew for sure at the burning she felt that there was something sprouting inside, and it had the potential to be devastating.

This is why she always stuck with logic over feeling. It never failed. It kept her life straight and unbothered. But with a sigh, dropping to the ground with her back against the door, she realized it also made her cold. And, it would also undoubtedly leave her lonely for the rest of her life if she never let anyone in.

But that was thing, she didn't choose who she let in, no one did. Sometimes they just broke their way in and something inside decided they could see everything. And then, now, she was the one stuck with her guard dropped and no way at all of knowing how Bucky felt.

She dropped her head between her knees. The butterflies flying in her chest just the day prior, all day, were now making her sick. Maybe that was just a sign they didn't belong.

Why did everything have to feel like a horrible joke lately, why did her life feel like some cruel social experiment? How could she be doing this, how was she beginning to develop feelings for this man? All's fair in love and war maybe, but this was borderline cruel. This was also uncharted territory to her; before yesterday she could brag about never being one of love's fools.

With sinking realization, she realized it wasn't just yesterday that had done it. This had been building, and that's why it was gripping her so tightly. But now, sitting with her heart in her stomach, it was one of those damned if she did, damned if she didn't moments. To let herself fall delicately in love with all the sickening romantic gestures and infatuated emotions with the one man she never thought she would, or not love at all and miss out on something that would leave her always questioning for the rest of her life.

Sitting there, allowing the memory to come back of his hand supporting her waist, his hand laced with hers, the look in his eyes…she knew there had to be a chance he felt the exact same. But he was just as afraid as her. Because life had only been unkind to him and had ripped everything he had ever known away. But neither of them could just give up on something they never even started.

"Bellamy?" His tentative voice came through the other side of the door and it almost came as a sign of reassurance. _Hang in there, be patient with me, please,_ he might as well have said. Calmly, she replied back through the door.

"I'm here." His reply came after a long time of contemplating hesitation.

"Can you open the door? Please?" She stared straight ahead. "I understand, if you don't want to see me…" After a moment, she scooted to the side towards the wall and opened the door from where she sat on the ground. Bucky stood there, looking down until he found her. She said nothing, just merely stared back. He swallowed and sat down outside her doorframe on the wall opposite from her. "I'm sorry." He told her quietly.

"It's scary." She agreed finally, nodding slowly. He didn't seem to need to ask her what she meant.

"I just don't think you have any idea what you're getting into…" he said lowly, looking straight at her. "With me. I'm never going to be fixed."

"You can't look at yourself like you're broken." He sighed.

"That's what I want to believe, but. I am."

"Well, you can't tell me what to see when I look at you." She retorted lightly, and he nervously kneaded his fingers.

"What do you see?"

"You want to know what I see? I look over and see a tired soldier beside me. He has good days and bad days. And he's so worn and weary and he probably wants to hide away from the world, but he never does. Sometimes he doesn't even wake up, he just waits for dawn to join him again and keeps going. And to me, that makes him one of the bravest people I know."

"Brave is just about the last word I would use." He admitted. "I'm terrified."

"Bucky, you have every reason in the world to just give up, but you don't."

"Neither do you."

"That doesn't mean I'm never terrified. I look at you and I see anger, I see resentment, but I see softness and light and good; I see everything in you because you're allowed to be and feel everything. Most of all, I look at you and I see someone I…" He stared at her and she stared back, the butterflies reviving themselves and flying back up to her chest. She pushed them back down. "Someone I'm…immensely proud of. And I'll remind you any time I have to." He looked away.

"I want to be someone you can count on. But sometimes it feels too heavy of a burden, because I'm not protecting you from some army…I'm protecting you from me. What if you needed me and I couldn't be there for you?"

"You take it one day at a time. And you try harder every day to be good, that's what you focus on." He stared at her. "You had missions. All your life, that's what you did. Even when it was just you and Steve, your mission was keeping him safe. Being a good friend. Make it a mission if you have to. Just get through each day until that gets easier. It will get easier. And you take your time, you go at your own pace, that's important." They sat together in a calmed silence, the tension evaporating. She let out a long breath.

"I'm also sorry for what I said." He spoke up again, and avoided her eyes. "And for my…language."

"I forgive you," she told him with a slight chuckle.

"And I was thinking that maybe I could make dinner tonight." He offered, raising his gaze and sitting more upright. The offer came out of nowhere and it made her frown.

"You don't have to—"

"Please. Just let me make this right." He sounded desperate, and there was no way she could argue with him about it, so she nodded. Bucky stared at her, putting a weak half-smile on his face that he struggled to maintain. "You just must be scared at the thought of me in the kitchen." It was effort on his part, and even though she was almost drained already despite barely waking after all of the events that had unfolded, she chuckled at his weak joke.

"I imagine you're not too familiar with them."

"You really never hold back, you know. Believe it or not, I was good at making one thing."

That one thing turned out to be grilled cheese, accompanied with tomato soup. As far as grilled cheese went, it wasn't the worst she'd ever had. Really, it was just about the best dinner she'd had in a while. She kept out of his way in hopes to make him feel more comfortable and did laundry, though she could hear him hiss or grumble under his breath about certain things every now and then. He didn't take a single bite of his food until she tried it and assured him it was good. He remained suspicious on if she were really telling the truth, so she kept reiterating it, and ate every bite.

After dinner, she excused herself to shower. When she got out, she could hear the water running from the kitchen, but it wasn't the sound of that that made her freeze where she stood in the bathroom in her large towel.

There was whistling of a catchy upbeat melody that quickly morphed into a low voice singing. She blinked several times before she cupped her mouth with her hand, recognizing Bucky's voice as she pressed her ear to the door.

Ever so lightly, she cracked the door open to listen.

" _Who wouldn't love you, who wouldn't buy_

 _The west side of heaven, if you just winked your eye_

 _You're the answer to my every prayer, darlin'_

 _Who wouldn't love you, who wouldn't care"_

When she poked her head out, she saw Bucky standing at the sink, the lower part of his shirt wet and eyebrows furrowed deep in thought as he scrubbed a soapy plate.

" _Who wouldn't love you, who wouldn't care_ ," he had begun again until he glanced up and caught her standing in the doorframe of the bathroom watching. His gaze snapped back up at the sight of her, and the plate slipped from his fingers back into the water, splattering him even more. Despite still being damp from the shower, she could feel herself growing hot each time his eyes fleetingly darted to the towel wrapped around her frame.

"You didn't have to do the dishes." Bellamy said, hoping her voice was steady enough to not give away her nerves. He cleared his throat and looked back down to dig the plate out of the water.

"Nonsense." He merely said rigidly, only glancing up briefly.

"You didn't have to stop singing either." She encouraged him lightly, biting back a smile. "It's a nice song. Sounds like an old one." He cleared his throat again and fixed his gaze down almost in a polite way to continue washing. As she turned to walk away she began whistling the same tune he had been, glancing over her shoulder and catching him watching. Now at her bedroom door and out of his sight, she heard his voice softly pick the words back up, and she smiled to herself, replaying in her head the look she had seen in his eyes.

* * *

That halfway rocky day had ended and more had taken its place since. Bellamy knew Bucky was still worried about her last nightmare when he suggested they try running. They both knew his idea was only because physical activity could help with nightmares, not just because she used to run cross country. They would wake up and go every dawn, the super soldier attached at her hip all the way. Though she kept a decent pace, the both of them knew he could very easily leave her in the dust—she even encouraged him to do so—but he always refused.

"It's too dark out right now," was his excuse.

They never talked about the future; the only thing on their own calendar was their second special outing, planned for the first of June.

They were trying, _trying_ , to do yoga one sunrise on the roof when he actually brought it up. As it turned out, Bucky didn't particularly like yoga ("I'm supposed to get my leg _where_?"), so it didn't last. He did, however, love stretching.

"We can do partner stretches." Bellamy suggested as she watched his eyes close pleasantly while he reached over his head.

"Like what?" He asked. She dropped to the ground.

"Just sit like this behind me," she demonstrated by stretching her legs out in front of her in a wide straddle. He raised an eyebrow.

"I thought we were done with yoga," he muttered, but obliged behind her. She scooted back so they were directly back-to-back. "Now what?"

"Now, I lean back to push you forward to stretch." She explained as she began to do so, but he wouldn't budge, it was like trying to lean against a wall. "Uh, Bucky, you have to lean forward. It's a stretch."

"Oh." He did so, and she leaned back more, not stopping until he let out a noise that closely and loosely resembled pain. "This _hurts_ ," he grunted after a moment.

"Just breathe." She encouraged, smiling in amusement as she leaned against his back, the sun warming her face.

"Okay, that's enough." He decided, sitting back up. She laughed as he groaned, shaking out his legs. "I thought stretching was supposed to feel good."

"You mean you don't feel better already?" She teased as she leaned forward. Tentatively, he leaned back against her. "You can lean back more."

"I don't want to break you," he muttered under his breath. Finally, her limbs began to sting as she stretched, folding her body forward. They stayed like that in silence for a moment, before she explained a different stretch; them facing each other in an open straddle, their shoes touching, taking turns pulling one another towards each other.

"I'm starting to regret agreeing to this," he admitted, wincing as she leaned back, her hands wrapped around his forearms to pull. He started pulling back after a moment. "Okay, I'm good." She laughed, but leaned forward, feeling his hands now wrap around her forearms to pull.

There was silence between them again, and voices down below them on the streets. Cars honking. Birds flapping their wings and calling to each other. Then, there was Bucky, clearing his throat.

"Um, about what I said the other night," He began quietly. "Would you still, uh, be…willing to…" She looked up away from the ground up towards his face, still deep in the stretch.

"Join you…?"

"Let me take you out, again, yeah…" Bellamy leaned back up, and his grip had loosened so that her forearms slid between his fingers, until her hands were in his, and they sat facing each other, hands connected, the sun shining directly down on them. Bucky's gaze flickered to their hands, before he lifted his gaze and began to smile hopefully. She smiled back.

"I would love to." He smiled back completely now, relief evident.

"Really? Great, I have the perfect idea."

* * *

He never gave any clues about it, but if their first outing was anything to go off of, she had nothing to worry about. They continued to go from day to day, and sometimes it took more effort on her part to make it a good one. Sometimes still, he never got a wink of sleep, she would go to sleep and wake up only to find him in the same position on the love-seat.

There was a night shared between them that always stuck out, a tender night, when she was in her room, jasmine candles lit and tucking away her old S.H.I.E.L.D. badge deep into her closet. Bucky was standing in wait by her door frame, timidly waiting for her to notice him.

"Oh." She said as she did, offering him a friendly nod. "Need something?" She asked as she walked over to her bed and sat on the edge of it, starting to frown the longer he hesitated. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, uh…well. Not exactly." He cleared his throat. "It's just, I'm trying to read right now," she noticed he had a book in his hand, almost hidden behind his leg. "And I can't. I can't focus on the words. I'll read one word and think of something else. Bad things. And I keep rereading the same paragraph over and over, but if I stop reading then all I have are the thoughts and..." he sighed, stopping himself and shuffling his feet and avoiding her gaze. "I was wondering…if you could maybe...read it to me." However surprised she was at the request, she made sure not to let her face show it. "I mean, you don't have to, of course…"

"No, no. I would love to." She pulled her legs up on the bed and patted the space next to her. He blinked, staying planted where he stood.

"But...that's your bed."

"Yes, thanks I'm aware." She smiled as he narrowed his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, you can sit right here beside me." With dragging steps, he made his way to the other side of the bed and sat stiffly upright.

"What were you reading?" He handed her _What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire_ , one collection of some of Charles Bukowski's later work. "Poetry, huh?" He only shrugged. She flipped up to the first one and began to read.

When she would glance up from the words, he was watching her very closely, his eyes never leaving her. The more she read, the more he began to lean back comfortably, and before long he was resting on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Once she'd finished three poems, she paused, noticing him frowning.

"I don't understand any of it." He murmured, before he glanced at her. "But he's very…honest."

"It's thought-provoking." He nodded a bit, before he turned on his side to face her.

"Why don't you write?" She guffawed, waiting for him to laugh too, but his innocent curiosity never faded.

"I…why would I?"

"You're smart. You like to read. Why not?"

"I never really had a reason to write. I wouldn't know what to write about."

"That's because you're still figuring everything about yourself out. But when you do, and you find a muse and decide to give it a whirl…I'd love to read it." She smiled at him, her own head resting against her pillow.

"I could just read it to you and save you the work," she teased, earning a gentle smile back and soft fluttering eyes.

"Even better."

Bellamy kept reading, and only stopped when she heard his sharp intake of breath. Pausing, she looked up to find Bucky had drifted to sleep, curled on his side, breathing with his mouth open. The super soldier had evidently endured too many sleepless nights and hit his limit as soon as he rested against a real bed. She shook her head and closed the book with a smile, putting it on the nightstand beside her bed.

As lightly as she could, she climbed off the bed and went to retrieve a blanket to drape over his body. She blew out the candles and went back into the living room with another blanket to settle down on the sofa for the night, a smile on her face.

 **A/N: Thank you CGKrows, Taffyrose, and Adalise for the reviews! xx**


	19. Forgive Me, Forgive Me

"Can't you just tell me how I should dress this time so I know for sure?" Bellamy asked Bucky as she frantically left her closet to find him waiting patiently in the living room. The first weekend of June had come, the second date here, and she was just as flustered as last time.

"You say that like you wore the wrong thing last time." He teased, casually tossing an orange in the air before he began to peel it, and raised an eyebrow. "Alright, alright, well…do you even own anything casual?"

"Ha, ha, Barnes." He was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, with a long-sleeved flannel—all new additions thanks to the McGraths. He still wore his baseball cap and would no doubt look very casual and fit right in with the crowds if it weren't for the glove he wore over his left hand.

He refused to give any information as to where they were going, but getting on the subway heading towards Brooklyn, she was able to figure it out on her own.

"It's a nice day for Coney Island," she commented nonchalantly beside him, watching the corners of his mouth turn up. "Should have worn a swimsuit underneath, perhaps." She was dressed in denim capris and a breezy tank top, with white boat shoes that Bucky had not shut up about. They both wore sunglasses and she knew no one would be able to recognize the man beside her. They especially wouldn't be able to recognize her, she almost didn't.

"We can always skinny-dip." He only seemed to say it to see the reaction on her face, and it worked; she jerked her head in his direction and earned a laugh in response. "Couldn't help myself. It's great. When I think of summer, I think of the boardwalk, and Nathan's hotdogs, and Luna Park." They both seemed to ignore another thing, another person, who should have been on that list.

As soon as they exited the subway station, it was more than obvious they were near the ocean. The famous sight of the upcoming rides flanked by the beach was something she'd seen many times, but never in person. Walking inside was almost anti-climactic for all the hype that surrounded it, but when she looked at Bucky, she could see great nostalgia in his eyes as he took in the sight of everything. She wondered how much had changed and guessed that much hadn't.

"So...you like roller coasters?" Bucky asked beside her, a smile beginning to grow on his face as he looked at one thing. Bellamy followed his gaze towards the Cyclone. It was impossible to ignore. Bellamy inspected the structure with caution.

"Well, hmm, I wouldn't really know." Bucky eyed her skeptically.

"You don't know if you like roller coasters?"

"I've never been on one. I've never even been here."

"What?" He scoffed. "Are you kidding me? You live in New York, you're from here, and you've never been to Coney Island?" She rolled her eyes. "Did you ever have fun before any of this?"

"Did you ever have anyone to tease before me?"

"Steve." He answered. "But that's the thing; only I was allowed to do it." Half of the playful banter had disappeared at the mention of his name. Bellamy slowed her walk, and Bucky slowed beside her.

"You know…I never really had a best friend growing up. It's nice that you had Steve to come here with, and I really appreciate you bringing me here. I know I'm not Steve, but…"

"Right now, there's no one else I'd want here. I have those memories with Steve, but it's time for new ones." He told her. "You do know I'm only messing around with you though, right?"

"Yes. But I mean, you're not wrong. I can't believe I've never been here either." But then she could, she never belonged at a place like this before in her blazers and S.H.I.E.L.D. badge. Bucky offered her the start of an encouraging smile, along with his arm.

"Better late than never. C'mon, let's go find out. You're not coming to Coney Island and leaving without riding the Cyclone."

* * *

"I'm beginning to second guess this." Bellamy mumbled, her voice sounding small—herself feeling small—as they got strapped into the cushioned seats of the Cyclone. It was an odd contradiction, feeling so comfortable and yet trapped, like preparing for death in the most luxurious way. Somehow Bucky kept his metal hand in his pocket with only one hand gripping the bar across their laps.

"You got nothing to worry about." She grimaced at him as the ride was sent into motion out to a sharp right turn.

"…How old is this ride again?" Her fear was doubling at an incredible rate as the ride crept upwards towards its first drop, and visions of being thrown from the car filled her head, along with the news headlines; woman dies riding the Cyclone for the first time in her life. Trying to settle herself came in an absurd form of mental gymnastics, reasoning that perhaps Bucky had enough strength in his arm to catch her from flying out.

"About as old as me," Bucky answered with a creeping smile. Bellamy blinked at him, and he sent a grin her way. "Hold on tight, darling." The drop was somehow still unexpected and cut off any reply she had, turning it to a scream. The rushing twists and drops never paused and the ride on its original wooden structure was a rough and bumpy one. The turns would throw her straight into Bucky with a whipping force, and she screamed more than she ever had in her entire life.

"Does anyone want to ride again?" The operator asked as they pulled back into the station. Bellamy was already shaking her head, eagerly waiting to get out, and Bucky laughed beside her.

"See, that wasn't so bad. It was fun, right? You're still breathing." He commentated nonchalantly as they got off. She followed him with weak knees and a turning stomach, and he laughed at her.

"Okay, so I don't think I like roller coasters."

"Hm. That's a shame. That new ride they just opened looks pretty neat." She looked in the direction he was staring towards the Thunderbolt. You could hear the screams from a distance.

"Can we…can we not?" She asked beside him feebly, and he laughed and offered his arm towards her, which she took again and used to keep herself steady. "Let's stay away from rides named after severe weather terminology."

"Sure thing. How about you pick then?"

Maybe she was just trying to get payback for whatever reason, but she picked the carousel next. Of course, they couldn't just not ride it, she reasoned; halfway having a ball wasn't going to cut it, after-all. Seeing him on an embellished pink and white horse looking quite large and out of place was more than worth it and as she laughed beside him on a green and white adorned one, his horse's partner, her spirit felt more alive than it had ever been in her life. A part of her wondered if maybe she was always supposed to be this person.

Walking together through the park with her hand in Bucky's like teenagers attached at the hip, she wondered if she had never met him would it feel like something was missing in her life? Would she have even allowed herself to realize it? The thought of never stumbling into this mess, this happy accident, in her life made her grip his hand tighter.

They rode the Brooklyn Flyer, the Seaside Swing, bought hot dogs at Nathan's, and even went back to ride more. Bucky teased her for liking "kiddie rides" but praised her for being able to ride them, since Steve apparently couldn't handle much of anything despite how hard he tried. The longer they spent there, she was beginning to see the hype about it. Coney Island seemed like the perfect place for lovers, for dreamers, to just get lost at the seaside spectacle.

The sun was beginning its descent and the lights of the rides were beginning to come on, changing the entire atmosphere like pulling open the curtains in a dark room. The air was more electric. They continued walking hand in hand, only looking, but after passing a booth with stuffed animals and a rambling carny salesman, Bucky stopped her and pulled her back.

"Answer the call, answer the challenge, just ring-a-bottle. Who's gonna be the big winner, step right up!" The man behind the ring toss booth was calling as Bucky pulled out cash from his pocket and handed it over. "Alright son, got 3 shots. Let's see what you can do." Despite being enhanced and good at many things, he couldn't get any rings around a bottle.

"Bummer," Bellamy commented beside him. He sent her a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were the expert, city girl." She smirked at him with her arms crossed.

"If you're trying to challenge me, it's not working." He raised his hands in the air.

"Pardon me, of course, I forgot—you're not too keen for fun." Bellamy huffed.

"Oh, alright. Fine." They paid for another game and Bellamy took the rings, carefully focusing on the bottles. The first one hit the neck of a bottle and bounced off. Bucky _tsked_ beside her. "Zip it, Barnes." She tossed the second one and it landed with the same fate. The last one she tossed actually landed around the neck of a bottle and she was perhaps more surprised than Bucky. "I did it!" She exclaimed, meeting Bucky's equally surprised face.

The man wasn't as surprised and only wore an expression of mild interest.

"You need more than one to win a prize, but congrats." He said. Bellamy's smile evaporated. Bucky suddenly looked angry beside her and stepped in front of her to talk to the man.

"Hey, wise guy, that's no fair—she got one. She deserves a prize."

"Well, why don't you win her one, Romeo?" Bucky frowned, but began pulling more cash from his pocket.

"Bucky, no, the games just rigged. It's okay." She tried to stop him, to no avail. This time he too only tossed one successful ring. He pulled out more cash. "Really, it's not worth it." With a determined shake of his head, he took the three rings once more.

"I'm winning you that goddamn bear." She covered her mouth to laugh as he concentrated intensely. This time, he successful tossed all three.

"Third time's the charm, kid. Congrats." The man said almost uneventfully as he unhooked a medium sized white bear with a pink ribbon and handed it to Bucky. "For your beautiful gal." The man's tone was almost mocking, but Bucky ignored him and wore a proud smile as he handed it to her.

She was so touched at the juvenile gesture, it felt so silly _, she_ felt silly—she couldn't stop giggling as she took the bear.

"I cannot believe you." She mumbled, though she grinned up at him. He smiled back and draped his arm over her shoulders. "That was entirely unnecessary."

"Nah." He disagreed, smiling down. "Like the man said. For my beautiful gal." He stared back at her for a second, his now visible eyes shining, and she took a longer look at him. It all felt okay suddenly, better than okay. It was perfect. It was him. Bellamy leaned up on her tiptoes so she could kiss his cheek. He almost froze in place, and she took the opportunity to go straight back to banter.

"I've never seen you look so ridiculous." He snorted at her.

"Okay, you were the one with your tongue sticking out, at least I won." He teased back.

"After three tries!"

It was much busier now with the dark sky playing a backdrop to the dizzying lights. Bellamy and Bucky were walking along the boardwalk leisurely, but she couldn't ignore the lights and sight of the steadily spinning Wonder Wheel. It was grand and she just couldn't tear her eyes away.

"…Can we go on the Wonder Wheel?" Bellamy blurted out, earning a look of surprise from Bucky, before he gave her a grin.

"Getting brave, huh?"

"It's now or never…right?" His smile softened, and he agreed with a nod before he led her to the huge attraction with a hand on her back.

"I wonder why it's called Deno's Wonder Wheel now." Bucky said as they waited in line. The man scanning the tickets looked up.

"You never heard the story?" He asked, chewing gum. The two of them shook their heads. "Denos was a World War II cook. He got back and worked pushcarts and stuff, and then operated a restaurant on the boardwalk. Loved this place, especially the big wheel. He'd tell his wife, Lula, one day he was gonna buy her this here wheel as a wedding present, the biggest ring he could imagine, so that everyone could see how much he loved her. He bought it back in the 80's. Now it's a landmark."

"That's incredible." Bellamy marveled beside Bucky, who was now looking up at the ride more fondly.

"You're in for a real treat, the two of ya. Swinging or stationary car? Want excitement, get the swinging. Want a nice scenic view, get the stationary."

"Stationary." Bucky said, sending her a side-glance and a smile of sorts. "Maybe we'll save the swinging for another time."

"Sure thing, enjoy the ride." They were closed inside the car, sitting side by side. As they were sent into motion, Bellamy immediately peered out the side and watched as all the people and booths and lit up rides grew farther away.

"Being here, it almost feels like nothing ever changed." Bucky murmured from beside her, his soft voice more prominent with them suspended up in the air. "I can pretend I just got back from the war. That I just won a huge teddy bear for the most gorgeous girl, that I'm the luckiest guy in the world."

"Well," she spoke up lightly. "You're not the only one. And I don't think I'm pretending anymore, so that might make me worse off than you." He locked eyes on her, looking between her eyes. "I've never felt like this in my entire life." He took in a deep breath.

"Me neither," he admitted. He continued to search her eyes, and she felt his hand over her shoulder tighten against her. "Bellamy, how do you really feel about me?" Her heart was thudding in her chest, she could hear it in her ears over the sound of everything else. Her own words relayed in her head like some ominous foreshadowing. It's now or never.

Flashes of everything that had happened her life filled her head, from their first skirmish in her apartment, standing in the shower with their clothes on, volunteering, the coffee shop, to the rooftop in various shades of night and day. The last image was of him, sprawled out beside her on her bed as she read poems to him. Him waking the next morning, exasperated and confused as to why she let him sleep in her bed, insisting she deserved it more than him. How he told her she should be a writer, how he just seemed to think the world of her, always.

Bellamy didn't know anything about writing poems, but she knew one big rule in writing was showing, not telling. And she knew she could try to explain the way her heart always tried to escape her chest when their hands were tied together, or she could show him and it would explain it better than she ever could with words.

Her eyes now searched the both of his, darting between them and down, towards his lips. They were drifting upwards in the car towards the sky in their own world, and she was leaning in towards him, closer and closer. She watched his eyes change like TV channels, widening in realization, looking at her lips, a million questions swirling in them, before acceptance filled them. Then, longing, then nothing as they fluttered shut. She could feel his lips against hers, the lightest touch, like a feather ghosting over her skin, before the car came to a jerk and stop, forcing their eyes open and faces apart.

They were directly on top of the wheel, paused, and the moment was gone. Bellamy cursed in her head as Bucky turned away from her, his eyebrows furrowed. He removed his arm from around her shoulders and she cleared her throat, looking out the cart in the opposite direction, crestfallen and lips tingling.

"How long can this go on," Bucky murmured after a moment when they were back in motion, looking out the car. Bellamy swallowed. "At some point, Bellamy, we're going to have to face reality, you know. I'm a fugitive." He chuckled bitterly without any humor, is expression darkening.

"Well, that's not tonight." She told him, maybe out of her own stubbornness.

"Bellamy…" He began, but she shook her head desperately. He stopped himself, and then he nodded back to her, offering her a small apologetic smile that couldn't quite form. "Okay." He reached over and took her hand in his normal one, but she still couldn't forget what had almost happened.

Bucky squeezed her hand and she managed a small smile at the feeling, turning to look out towards the deep indigo colored night sky. Her thoughts drifted to thinking maybe in some alternate universe she had watched the same sky grow dark with a lighter heart and the lingering taste of a kiss on her lips.

"This view is incredible," she mused as they began to climb back down, pausing and rocking as it came to another stop. "You can see everything up here." They were moving again. Bucky's hand had slipped from hers, and she glanced back to him curiously, to find him frowning. "Bucky?"

Now their car came to a stop and they were supposed to get off, but he looked to be paralyzed.

"Bucky—" Bellamy began, only to get cut off by loud booming noises. The both of them jumped, and she looked around with growing alarm. There were fireworks over at the beach, drawing a huge crowd. When she turned back worriedly to Bucky, he was pushing past her and running. "Bucky, wait!" The fireworks drowned out her voice and she was forced to run after him blindly. Panic was building inside her as she pushed through the thick throng of people; if she lost him here it'd be impossible to find him.

The boardwalk was full of people, of lights, of sounds, of smells. A child crying over candy, multiple children running, a man smoking a cigarette, loud music playing, the smell of popcorn. _Boom! Boom!_ The fireworks were the guitar solo in the convoluted scene before her.

The utter relief that washed over her at the sight of Bucky a little ways away from her was only momentary—he was frozen and staring at something she couldn't pinpoint, his eyes horrified and chest heaving as though he were having trouble breathing.

"Bucky," she called out gently as she came to a stop a little ways behind him, trying to catch her breath. He didn't turn. Nervously, she stepped in front of him, trying to intercept his vision. He only stared past her unseeingly, his head jerking as a firework fizzed. She was too late; he was trapped, triggered by something around them. Beads of sweat were forming near the top of his forehead, and he was entirely short of breath, starting to pant. "Bucky, can you hear me? Just talk to me, tell me what's wrong."

"I...I…" There were too many things around them going on, too many people. His eyes shut and his jaw clenched as the finale of the fireworks seemingly took place, exploding one after another after another. Down the boardwalk, if she could get him there, was an abandoned quiet bench.

"Here, Bucky, take my hand. I'm right here." He clutched her hand with ferocious strength and she winced as she began to lead him away, struggling with a large bear in her other arm, trying her hardest to find a clear path. "You're going to be alright, okay?" She told him, trying to give him something he could focus on. He gave no indication he'd heard and his breathing had gotten worse to the point that his grip was weakening on her hand and he was trailing behind. Pausing, she took his arm and put it around her shoulders again, her own arm struggling to wrap around his frame and continue to pull him towards the bench they were so close to.

When she got him there, she dropped the bear and helped him sit down before kneeling in front of him. There was a sheen of sweat on his face now.

"Bucky, I know you feel like whatever you're seeing is real right now, but it's not. You're not there, you're here with me. You're here with me." He gasped as if he were resurfacing from drowning before his eyes glued to her wildly. "Bucky, tell me what you see. Tell me exactly what you're seeing in front of you right now, and breathe." He blinked a few times before his eyes slowly peeled away from her, moving behind her head.

"There's…there's the pier. And, the water. The moon. And, and, the rides."

"What else? Do you see that empty water bottle over there in the sand?" He turned to the right where she pointed and nodded stiffly. "Now look at me. Do you see me?" He focused on her again and nodded after a moment, still trying to get into a natural rhythm of breathing. She opened her palms upwards towards him, and after a moment, he placed his own hands in hers, gripping them tightly again.

"I see you." He answered, starting to sound more like himself. The fireworks had stopped, and they heard clapping in the distance.

"Just breathe, okay? You're here with me right now. I'm right here. I'm right here." She said, squeezing his hands gently. She listened and waited patiently, until he was breathing correctly. "What do you need to do, what do you need right now?"

"I need to get out of here." He replied, and she nodded.

"Okay. I'll get you back. I promise. Come on," she helped him stand and placed her arm behind his back again. As they began walking, he placed his arm around her shoulders for the third time that night, and they likely appeared like an easy-going couple, tired out and content with a prize bear after a fun weekend date, but that couldn't have been farther from the truth. It didn't matter; all the mattered was getting him back someplace that felt safe.

"I can't…" his words faltered as he shook his head, frowning painfully at the ground. "I can't believe this happened. Again."

"Don't do that, Bucky." She told him sternly. "It's okay."

"We were having a nice time…"

"Stop. This is not your fault, okay? You have nothing to feel guilty about." He only sighed harshly. She never let go of his frame, not until they were on the subway and heading back. Bucky immediately buried his face in his hands, and Bellamy nervously held onto the bear, watching him with heavy concern.

Back at her apartment, Bucky merely said he didn't want to go in. She followed him silently up to the roof; he didn't tell her not to follow him, but he never invited her either. Up there, underneath the moonlight, he walked closer to the ledge and leaned his elbows on it, looking down towards the street. She stood a little ways behind him, glancing up towards the moon.

Bucky was brooding, likely lost in all the blame, losing himself in shame. It wasn't anything he hadn't gone through before, but she didn't want him to keep suffering in this way. She didn't want him to think this was still his fault, least of all that he was alone.

And so, Bellamy ghosted towards him like a creeping shadow, reaching his side and staring at his face as she reached out and placed her hand over his metal one. He looked down at her with what she could only describe as pain, and her hand over his suddenly wasn't enough.

She scooted closer to him and slid her hand behind his back just as she had earlier, but this time, she locked her other arm in front of him and clasped her hands together, her head resting against his chest as she hugged his frame tightly. His heart pounded steadily beside her ear, and she could feel him hesitating, before he placed his arm around her. They stood like that, him listening to the sounds of New York, her listening to his heart.

Time started to drift away, and she looked up at him, wondering his state of mind. He returned her look, before he wordlessly dropped his arm. Suddenly his hand was on her waist, both of his hands, and he was lifting her up to sit her on the ledge, as easily as if he were lifting a doll and placing it on a shelf. He leaned his elbows back on the ledge beside her leg, his head resting against her arm, staring back down wordlessly to the streets below while she faced the moon, but focused instead entirely on him beside her.

"Don't beat yourself up, Bucky." She murmured hoarsely, breaking their non-talking streak. With her opposite hand, she reached over and patted the top of his head. "Please. You've done so well these past months. I mean, your path to getting to where you want to be isn't going to be linear." He only blinked calmly.

"I know." His nonchalant reply scared her, the decided silence and lack of argument. Maybe it was progress, but she only wanted him to be completely honest in that moment. Hash out whatever he was feeling, even the ugly thoughts. She just wanted to help him.

"What are you thinking right now?" She pleaded. He finally looked at her.

"I'm thinking…that I don't know what I ever did to deserve the company of someone like you." Though she was caught off guard, she knew even if he was thinking that, there was something else there in his mind that he wasn't telling her. He wasn't admitting it. Still, she opened her arm out to him.

"You're just you, that's exactly it." She told him. "And I'm not leaving you up here alone." He accepted her invitation and walked into her, letting her wrap her arm around his neck while he placed his around her waist. It was a hug, or so she thought, until he proceeded to lift her up again and place her back on the ground, letting go.

"We'll go back together. It's been a long day, you need your rest." He told her, but wouldn't look at her.

Back in her apartment, she couldn't ignore the rising dread she felt in her stomach and walked over to sit on the sofa.

"I'm not really tired yet." Bellamy lied as she grabbed _The Flamethrower_. She'd never taken this long to finish a book before, but what with everything she had been doing, suddenly life was more interesting. Bucky said nothing as he sat beside her, sitting and staring blankly at his notebook pages.

Soon, the words were blurring on the page, her eyelids were closing against her will, and at some point she drifted to sleep.

* * *

Bucky knew Bellamy was undoubtedly exhausted. It didn't take her long at all to fall asleep beside him, book in hand, head lolled against the armrest of the sofa. He watched her for a moment, amazed but not at all surprised, before he took the book gently out of her hands.

When he had first found her asleep that night after dancing, his heart seemed to swell and he fell asleep beside her, watching how evenly her breathing was. Now, his heart felt like it was slowly splintering. Reluctantly, he stood and lifted her carefully up in his arms. She only sighed peacefully, not stirring once.

She still didn't move as he took off her boat shoes with a half-hearted smile, and pulled the cover over her body, tucking it around her chin. He took a moment to gaze at her, to look at the empty spot beside her, before he left her room.

On the way back out towards the living room, the study seemed to demand attention like the many rides they'd seen that night, and he was acutely aware now of the graduation picture that was no longer hanging on the wall. In the living room, the feeling followed, with the broken TV being the only thing he could look at other than the broken painting. None of it would ever be the same, because of him, not even her Grandmother's armchair that he had fixed. He had destroyed so much, and even though he had fixed some, he felt selfish for wanting to stay in between the same four walls as her.

Bucky took his notebook, now nearly full after many sleepless nights, and skimmed through the first few pages of memories, of his teenage summers and some moments of war, until he was at the back of the notebook. He had separated it out, the first section all coming from the before memories of his life, and the back section being the after. He didn't want to forget any of it.

He let himself read over a few of the last entries, stretching on the roof with her, pancakes for breakfast, building a puzzle of the statue of liberty with her. Bellamy was always her on these pages, she was the only her that mattered. Finally, he turned to the next empty page and scribbled down _Coney Island with her_. That was all he could write, the pen shaking in his hand, before he continued on.

 _I'm starting to think fate wants to keep us apart. Something good happens and I lose myself again. It's like a horrible shock collar, it reminds me what I am. I was stupid to think I deserved her love, that it could change anything about me. If I'm only capable of destruction, of being a weapon, a solider, then I'll be hers. I'll be her hell, her rage, her revenge._

The pen came to a stop. He stared at the words, his eyes closing, before he forced his hand to roughly flip through the pages to the last page of the notebook, a blank one. He knew this time he had to write something, but he couldn't make his hand move. With a harsh exhale, he pushed the notebook away and stood from the sofa, his head turning back to look down the hallway towards her bedroom.

With silent steps, he walked back, and stood at her doorframe, checking to be sure she was still asleep. She was, as peaceful as ever, unaware entirely in the eye of the tumultuous hurricane he was causing.

He silenced the storm in his head, just for a moment, and walked closer to her, kneeling down beside her bed and resting his chin against the mattress to gaze indulgently up at her sleeping face. Only in this state was her youth really revealed, all the serious lines smoothed out and sharp blue eyes hidden away. He stayed admiring her soft face unapologetically, desperately trying to etch her face into his head, wishing he could somehow sketch her likeness to a page in his notebook like Steve could.

Her golden brown hair cascaded into curls around her face, and as gently as he could, he reached his fingers out to stroke the silky strands back and away from her face. How misleading, he thought, for someone so steely to be made so soft. He froze as she stirred, letting out a peaceful _hmm_ , turning her head directly towards him. He waited for the moment her eyes would open and catch him there, but they never did. Her breathing continued undisturbed, hitting his face every time she exhaled.

They were so close, for the second time that night. Suddenly he was back in the car on top of the Wonder Wheel, before the moment cigarette smoke hit his noise and dragged him back to HYDRA. He determinedly kept those thoughts from his mind and focused on the image of Bellamy, of her leaning towards him so bravely, of the way her eyelids had flickered shut, at the way her lips touched his just barely, but not enough.

It's now or never, she had said. She had also been the one to tell him they chose their lives, that he had no one else to tell him what do anymore. He stared at her face longer, feeling himself leaning closer, knowing he could lean in more and bring the sensation back to life. She would awake with his lips pressed against hers, and maybe she would kiss him back. Drape her arms around his neck and pull him closer. But behind his closed eyelids, he only saw her terrified face when he woke her from her nightmares, he could only hear her begging for mercy, he could only see her tear-stained face and wondered how many of those tears had fallen before he even knew her and yet had still caused. He held his breath and pulled back, feeling like he was suffocating as he stood.

On the nightstand was the Charles Bukowski book, along with a photograph, no the photograph. The only one of them that existed. It had been taken by Flora a Tuesday not too long ago, when they met the couple to tell them of the Broadway show.

"I'm no expert, but I can take a nice picture of the two of you. Smile!" Flora had encouraged, and with a flash came a little picture right out of the camera instantly. He was taken back at the sight of the colored image, there with her flashing an easy pearly smile beside him, and him struggling to smile, but trying. For her. He picked both the book and photograph up and hurried out of her room before he got swallowed in another wave.

The softness was gone, the harshness was back and his resolve came with it as he snatched up his notebook again and tore out the empty page. Now, the pen wouldn't stop moving as he furiously wrote, and wrote. When he finished, he didn't read it and instead went to her hallway closet where he had seen an empty backpack.

Bucky grabbed his cap and the notebook, sticking it inside the backpack with all the clothes he had. Lastly, carefully, he tucked the only picture of them away in the backpack.

He looked around the room, fixing the image of it into his head one last time before he started for the door, resisting the urge to stop by her room one more time. He knew if she were awake, if she saw him ready to leave and pleaded with him to stay every ounce of his resolve would crumble, and he would admit how he was starting to fall in love with her.

Admitting that wasn't going to help her. He didn't have anything to offer her worth having, she deserved something more than him. He had to walk out, he had to set her free and give her a real chance at a peaceful life and the opportunity to find herself. Maybe even happiness.

So he slipped out the door and didn't look back, even though he felt a growing sensation of panic filling his chest, like he had been divided and left something behind. _Forgive me, forgive me_ , he begged as he marched on, for broken antiques and gravestones, and for everything he wasn't brave enough to be.

 **A/N: This was a long one, so thank you all so much for reading and please review!**


	20. Wasting Away

Bellamy fought the urge to call out a good morning into the dark living room. Though it was morning, it was early morning, and the living space was next to black; even if she pulled open the curtains, the softest navy light would barely illuminate the walls. And then there was the matter of if Bucky had slept a wink at all. But she couldn't stay in bed.

She was curious, however, walking into the living room, and started towards the couch before doing anything else.

"Bucky…?" She whispered gently, squinting at the mounds of blankets. "Are you awake?" There was no response, but he wasn't the heaviest sleeper; he awoke at the lightest sounds of anything. His lack of response was concerning. "Bucky?" She took a leap and reached her hand out gingerly, tapping the blanket, only to realize it was hallow. There was no body to be found as she prodded harder. Uneasiness began to build as she hurried to the lamp and switched it on, seeing the blankets covering the empty couch.

His name came again from her mouth, but she didn't really focus on the sound as she backtracked her steps, checking the empty bathroom, checking the nooks in her bedroom, the study, the balcony. Nothing. He was nowhere. There was nothing to even suggest he had ever been there.

At a loss, thrown off completely in her first hour of consciousness, she stood aimless in her kitchen, the coldness of the wood beneath her feet the strongest sensation other than the uneasiness slowly turning to panic. Perhaps he had left again to visit the McGraths? Maybe he was finally brave enough to head out on his own. It was still early—maybe he was on the roof. That had to be it, on the roof writing in his notebook.

Just as she started towards the door, her eyes caught sight of a book strategically placed on the kitchen counter. It was Charles Bukowski, and there was a longer page, a note, stuck inside between the pages.

 _To you who made me laugh again,_

 _I have to go. I'm sorry for leaving without a goodbye, but maybe it's for the better. I'll never be able to thank you for everything you've done for me. That's why I have to go after them, to make them pay for what they've done, to the world, to me, but mostly, to you. I understand now that maybe I didn't choose to do everything I did, but I'm making a choice now to stop them. I want to see every last one of them burn. But that's my burden now, not yours. I remember things now and I can still stop plans that they have. Prevent more wrong and undo it._

 _What you should do is move on. Keep figuring yourself out, keep figuring out what you want in life. Keep running. See more and do more. Don't isolate yourself. You've devoted your entire life to everything but yourself. You deserve to be happy. You deserve justice, and that's the one thing I know I can give you. So don't worry about HYDRA, or me. It's not worth it. I hope you understand._

Bellamy reread it over and over again, not knowing what to do. She pulled the note out of the book entirely, and her eyes caught sight of the poem on the page, "Love is Raw."

It was one she read to him that night before he fell asleep, speaking of remembering intimate moments that almost seemed to be written for them specifically; of a small room, of light, of warmth, of records, books, morning coffee, of nights and noons. There was the line near the end, "you who made me laugh again." She read the poem over once more, feeling her heart tugging inside her chest before she closed the book.

With dragging uncertain steps, she made it to the couch and sat in the dark room with the lamp on and stared at nothing in particular, wrapping the blanket around her body. It might as well have not belonged to her anymore; it only smelled like him and made the whole situation feel more surreal.

As she sat and the morning light began to fight harder to come in, she knew why now she never saw something like this coming; she'd forgotten he could get up and leave at any moment, the moment he didn't need to stay anymore, the moment he didn't _want_ to stay.

* * *

All of a sudden, she didn't know how to do this again. She remembered after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell and she fell to her knees with it. It was hard to get up, it was why she focused herself on finally finding the truth, then finding Bucky, then…just trying to reconcile. But now, all of that was gone. She was even more lost than before.

This was a blank document, completely clear and she was hesitating with her fingers over the keyboard. She would search online for the best places to travel for soul searching, for solo travelers. Then she would try to imagine herself in this different places—where did she belong? The eastern coast of Ireland? New Zealand? Spain?

She never had time to travel leisurely before, but now she did. Time was what she had the most of nowadays. Money wasn't an issue. Obligations were nonexistent. But she never seemed to fit anywhere. And she knew traveling abroad was the best thing to do; whenever she met someone in a local coffee shop, usually a young student unsure whether they were on the right path, it was the first thing she encouraged them to try. Taking your own advice never quite worked though.

All the while, she tried not to think of him, but how could she not; just the other night they were holding hands. In each other's arms. She tried to focus again on passing days as they once had together, but they just went by slower. One night she was rereading the poem, and the others she had read to him, before she remembered the picture, the only one she had of the both of them.

It was supposed to be on her nightstand, but it wasn't. She searched for an hour, checking drawers, different rooms, bookshelves—everywhere. Finally, she came to terms that Bucky likely took it, either so it would be easier to move on, like he was never there, or…he wanted it himself. She didn't know why, but she knew she didn't have it. It didn't help, and neither did pretending she didn't feel emptier without him there.

Really, her whole life just halted. She would lace up her tennis shoes and only make it outside and stand frozen, like a scene in a movie while everyone else moved around her as though she were just an obstacle in their path, not a person. Suddenly running didn't feel right, just like everything else. Bellamy just tried her best to keep her mind occupied and reread books. It was an escape. It passed time.

She was sitting on the couch one night, the same blanket wrapped around her when there was a shuffling noise. Immediately she turned her head towards the front door, towards where the sound came from.

With slow motions, she stood suspiciously. There right in front of the door on the floor was a yellow legal envelope. Bellamy blinked at it, before she opened the door. There was no one there. As she shut the door again, she stared back down at the envelope. It was all suspicious, but she couldn't keep herself from picking it up hopefully; she couldn't keep her mind from hoping it was somehow from Bucky.

It was blank on the outside. Inside, she recognized classified documents, pages of information, all with S.H.I.E.L.D. seals. As she skimmed through them briefly, she realized it was explaining how S.H.I.E.L.D. was being rebuilt again and kept underground, all headed by Phil Coulson, the new director picked by Fury himself. Of course, she knew about Project T.A.H.I.T.I., none of the details only that Phil was brought back to life. The rest was of need to know basis, but a new S.H.I.E.L.D. was news to her.

It was hard not to feel a little betrayed. Jealous. Even angry. She had been second-in-command—if anything, she should be at the helm. But she wasn't. Bellamy scoffed and tossed the envelope with a flick of her wrist onto the kitchen counter, intending to dismiss the information, before she noticed a piece torn paper fly out. It was a note, a small one inside that she had missed.

 _Fury has it._

The words were written in rushed cursive and didn't match the handwriting in the note Bucky had left for her. With such an abrupt note, she wasn't sure who could've left this information for her, or what "it" was. Nonetheless, she stewed over it for the rest of the night.

After thinking, she pulled out her old phone from S.H.I.E.L.D. and sent Fury a private message.

 _Meet me at the Starbucks on 47_ _th_ _two days from now at noon. I know you have what's mine and I want it._

She sent the message and waited for his reply.

 _Yes_.

She stared at the message, only affirmation rather than questions. How she dealt with Fury's lies before on a daily basis she wasn't sure, but she hoped she was on her way to finally ending it.

* * *

Bellamy had been inside the Starbucks many times for work; it was the closest to the old New York S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Personally, she liked spending time at locally owned businesses and never got the hype of the chain. Nonetheless, she ordered a green tea, unable to bring herself to buy coffee, and sat down at a table in the back.

She kept her eye on the door and was caught off guard by the sight of Phil Coulson himself walking inside. When he saw her his expression didn't change, and she stood to meet his extended hand.

"I wasn't expecting you, Phil. For more reasons than one." He shook her hand firmly, letting his other hand rest over it, before he inspected her closely.

"It's great to see you too, Bellamy. I would imagine you have a lot of questions." His eyes gave her another once over, and his eyebrows pulled down slightly. "How have you been?"

"Where is Fury?" She took her seat, and didn't bother wasting any time. "That was his personal number that I've always used to contact him." Phil's polite pursed smile never wavered as he sat in front of her.

"A lot of things have changed." She wore her lips pursed into a frown. "Fury, at the moment, is off the radar. Even I don't know where he is, but he contacted me when he received your request." Phil continued to sit in front of her with his hands clasped neatly on top of the table, not moving. "Can I ask you a few questions first?" Bellamy leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms.

"You're going to anyways, as we both already know; I can't leave when you're using whatever belongs to me as leverage and therefore I can't say no." Phil's smile upturned a little more.

"Of course you can. We always have choices." Bellamy felt her hands making fists.

"Please, do not patronize me. Go on."

"You've been hiding away for months now. How?"

"Fairly easy. In plain sight, where I wasn't exactly trying to hide. Everyone knew my name and qualifications, but no one put a face to it. I didn't know I was being looked for."

"See, that was more of a rhetorical question. You can't believe you just got away with that. That you hid that well. That would be a bit naïve for a former deputy director, wouldn't it?" Though his words worried her, she felt a spark inside her chest that she hadn't felt in a long time.

"Depends on who you ask, I'm sure many would think I were ignorant enough to believe that. But maybe I didn't believe that, maybe I was just _hoping_ S.H.I.E.L.D. was done and gone and I could just dust my hands clean and move on like a normal person. Maybe I tried my best not to think about S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore after I've given up so much to it." She replied through gritted teeth. "After being lied to about damn near everything. After HYDRA."

"You weren't the only one lied to, Bellamy. We all were. If you want to get personal, I died and was brought back to life with a lie. I'm sure you knew about that." Bellamy stared back at him.

"You're just as guilty, Phil." He tilted his head. "Did you know about my family? About me?" He stared back at her, his smile finally disappearing into a more serious expression.

"I knew about you." She smirked at him ruefully.

"It doesn't matter anymore; I don't care."

"Don't you?" She raised her eyes from the floor to him. "Why else are you here?" Stubbornly, she held her silence and stared back at him and raised her chin. "What have you been doing these past months?"

"Who's asking?"

"I am."

"Well, Phil, we were never much more than work associates. I'm not really sure why you would care."

"Let's be honest with each other." She chuckled without humor and gestured with her hand.

"After you."

"Would you be interested in knowing S.H.I.E.L.D. has been rebuilt?"

"By you."

"Yes. You knew that?" She inspected Phil closely and had no way of knowing if he was the one who had left her the envelope of documents, but something wasn't telling her it wasn't him. She chose her words carefully.

"Through the grapevine." Was her answer and she received an even stare. "And no. It doesn't interest me." He didn't look like he believed her, but he shifted in his seat, regrouping.

"You took both the Winter Soldier and Sergeant James Barnes' files. Why?"

"I was looking for the truth. Alexander Pierce told me my father was…exterminated." She spat, remembering with venom the same exact tone of his voice. "I was always told he died on a mission. The rest was "classified." And that's, frankly, bullshit." Something like softness developed in his eyes as he leaned closer.

"I would've helped you, Bellamy." She watched him with seething narrowed eyes, angry, not exactly at him, but angry nonetheless.

"How kind of you. I'm sure we all would like to believe we would do the "right" thing, if given the chance."

"Bellamy, have you ever thought if you weren't so cold and withdrawn, more people would've helped you?" She stared back at him.

"I only ask Fury and he should've told me. That's all that mattered."

"And you found what you needed?" She swallowed.

"Yes."

"That's what you were doing these past five months?" She said nothing. "You didn't once wonder why you didn't run into trouble? We erased your name from the database. We've all been given clean slates, but Fury wanted to make sure you were protected from any agency, from congress, from anyone. He wanted to keep unwanted parties off your trail."

"Thoughtful. I'm charmed."

"Bellamy…I can't fix the damage between you and Fury. I'm here not only because he asked, but because I've been meaning to seek you out, after Fury made me the new Director."

"You know, he should have always picked you over me." Bellamy uncrossed her arms and pushed her palms against her pants firmly. "Technically, I should have been his first choice, but he's trying to correct his mistake. He has the chance to do it all over again, and he picks you. I always heard he was deciding between me, a fairly young woman with minimal field experience, and you. I never understood why he picked me, until I learned Pierce goaded him into picking me; I was the perfect candidate for HYDRA."

"No. That's not why." Phil disagreed with her quickly. "You were level-headed and calm. Poised. Moldable. They both saw potential, albeit for different paths. You proved your worth, I found out, after the battle of New York, taking care of all that damage seamlessly. Like the battle never happened. You handled every question thrown at you with grace on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s behalf and reassured the public perhaps better than anyone. Bellamy, I want you to be my Deputy Director, my second. I can guide you and we can work together." Bellamy inspected his face for a moment before she turned her head to the side and watched the baristas making drinks hastily.

"I'm not interested, Phil."

"You took an oath when you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. I remember you telling me your moment of commitment to fighting for peace was the day your brother passed and I know you didn't make that promise lightly. Coldness aside, nothing meant more to you than peace. We are the shield that protects the people, protects that peace. What happened?"

"What happened was my life was built around an entire lie. I…" She thought of Bucky suddenly, and her words trailed off, before she picked back up again with new words. "…I devoted myself to everything but myself. You can call me selfish, I suppose it would be true; I can't work for an organization that couldn't be straight with me."

"I will." She looked at him for a long time before she sighed and swept her hand through her hair before she leaned her elbows on the table.

"I picked up baking, Phil. I went to a Broadway show. Volunteered, got drunk, sat listening to war stories at a quaint coffee shop. I went to Coney Island, I had a hot dog in Brooklyn…" Her words faltered and she shook her head fiercely to set it straight again. "I healed. But I'm learning…that doesn't finish in five months. It's going to take the rest of my life to build a new one. Without S.H.I.E.L.D. in it." Phil stared back at her before he finally reached down towards his briefcase and opened it, pulling out two files. Bellamy knew what they were instantly and snorted as he managed an apologetic look.

"Would these help?" He slid them towards her, and she kept her eyes on him but couldn't keep from looking down at them. Scott Burke, one read. The other was her own.

"Fury had these?" Phil nodded. She took another glance at them but resisted to the urge to open them. Instead, she picked them up and stood from her chair. "No. They can't help."

"Is there anything else I can do?" She was expecting Phil to go on with trying to convince her to join him, but his simple question only sounded sincere. She glanced back at him, watching her earnestly.

"I'll let you know."

When she got home, she stared more at the unopened files. Bucky was right. He never lied to her; he never took the files. It had been Fury. They were what she had always been searching for, and if she'd found them five months ago, maybe she never would have needed to take Bucky's files. Maybe she never would have run into him.

Somehow that thought alone made it feel even more right for her to tuck the files away into her closet without ever opening them. Inside, she would find the full and complete details of her father's death, but did that matter? She would probably find out things she didn't know about herself in her own file, but that didn't matter either. It only mattered what she discovered of herself, and that was going to take more time.

* * *

Maybe it was starting to get a bit better, but she wasn't really certain. A routine was beginning to build, a meager one, but she had that going. Some days, she regretted ever allowing her heart to rule over her mind; what happened when you lost both? There were a lot of questions she couldn't really answer. Everything was uncertain.

One morning as she stared out at the city from her balcony, unable to see the beauty she once had fallen in love with, her phone started ringing. Her first reaction was hope that quickly faded to feeling foolish when she realized it wasn't Bucky. Then panic when she realized it was Steve.

"Hello?" She answered on the last ring when she was sure she sounded normal.

" _Bellamy, hi. Listen, are you still in New York?_ "

"Yes," she hesitated. "Why?"

" _Is it at all possible for us to talk? In private_?" Bellamy frowned, before she turned her back to the buildings. " _Maybe I come to you, to your place_?"

"Is it important?"

" _Yes_." Bellamy bit her lip.

"Fine. Sure. Do you have a pen and paper? I'll give you my address."

Steve didn't take very long after their phone call, meaning she had just enough time to look decent and clean up the area, which included draping a blanket over the broken TV screen and moving the broken painting into the study. A good move too; Steve was very observant as he walked in.

"Very...quaint. It's inviting though. I can't say this is what I was expecting your place to look like—not that it looks bad or anything. It's nice." She said nothing as she sat in the armchair and he sat on the loveseat. It was an odd sight. She caught him staring at the record player before he turned to her with a small smile. "Getting good use of those records?" Bellamy ducked her head.

"Every now and then." He nodded, his smile faltering, before he shifted a little. "So, what was so urgent?"

"Well," he sighed. "Recently there was a huge HYDRA base taken out overseas. It wasn't us, we don't know who it was. I was wondering if you knew anything about it." Bellamy blinked and was careful not to betray anything she was feeling or thinking outwardly.

"You think I did it?"

"I think you might know who did."

"Steve, a lot of information was leaked that anyone in the world can get their hands on. HYDRA is likely to have as many enemies as S.H.I.E.L.D., as the Avengers."

"It couldn't have just been anyone that took down that base. It's not a walk in the park. That's why we're concerned." Bellamy shrugged her shoulders, though she felt her heartbeat picking up.

"What makes you think I know?"

"Just, be honest with me, alright? Was it Fury?" Bellamy stared at him, realizing Bucky wasn't even in the equation.

"All I know is Fury is off the radar. It very well could have been, but I wasn't his accomplice and I don't know anything. I haven't been focused on that as of late." When she looked back to Steve, suddenly his face was full of pity. It was almost overwhelming and forced her to look away.

"How have you been, Bellamy?" The sudden shift in conversation wasn't one she wanted to take. When she didn't reply, he continued. "You don't look good, I mean, you've always been on the leaner side and all, but…have you even been eating?" She sent him a firm look.

"I'm fine, Steve."

"Really, are you doing okay?" He insisted with his own soft stubbornness. "I know we aren't exactly the best of friends, but after everything we've been through, I—"

"Yes, Steve. I'm fine. But I've got some errands to run and I really have to get to them. If you don't mind." Immediately, he stood with a nod and she walked him to the door where he hesitated.

"Well…I'm around. If you need anything, you can always call, okay?" He waited until she made eye contact with him.

"Thanks." With that, she closed the door on him. And now, thanks to him, all she could think of once more was Bucky. Taking down the base had to be him. Steve was right; it wasn't a job for just anyone. Bucky was more than capable. And though she worried, she also couldn't help but feel a small wave of pride, along with the conflicting feelings of shame and jealousy. At least he was out there with a goal and apparently doing well, while she was still here, wasting away.


	21. Cocoon

Bellamy was acutely and painfully aware that she missed Bucky more than she should. No, not more than she should, per say, but more than what should have been normal.

His letter made sense, the parts where he said he needed to do it for himself, but it also made her conflicted. There was no way she wouldn't just not worry about him. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was her heart still seemed to throb at his absence. It still ached to see him sitting up and awake as she walked into the living room, and if he only were she would tell him the truth, the kind of truth so real you could only tell strangers, but she felt like she knew him her entire life already, so maybe this feeling was stronger. This truth was more.

June turned into July, and July turned into early August while she continued through what felt like purgatory. She grew determined over time to get up and go running, though she would take different routes each time, long routes she didn't take with him.

She stopped going to Susanna's Café again, not quite able to bring herself to face the familiarity, so she visited different places, cafes and shops she had never been to. It was almost fine if she pretended to be, but without fail, she would find herself searching for more news updates, either of him or more HYDRA bases being taken out. News of the Winter Soldier had seemed to completely die out altogether.

Several things were hitting her, these days where she could only reflect.

One, she still didn't who was she was supposed to be. She wasn't sure if she ever would. At the moment, she wasn't even a woman; she was a girl in the wrong sized pants—suddenly she couldn't drink coffee at all. It was bitter on her tongue and made it feel fuzzy. Suddenly, her entire wardrobe seemed to only fit another woman who wasn't her. All the pantsuits in the same monotone color family and silk blouses didn't belong on her.

Suddenly, she was afraid of being alone. Being alone only allowed her thoughts to scream at her as the silence used to, and she'd never heard the screams before until he came, and until he left.

Second, the dull ache never went away once she focused on it. Nothing alleviated it. Small victories were shallow; sure, she was now in the best shape of her life and didn't look ragged as Steve had mentioned now that she started eating regularly again, but that all felt meaningless. As meaningless as holding a yoga pose in her living room and pretending to meditate. Pretending she felt better after it. She heard his voice in her head when she stretched. She heard his low laugh when she occasionally lost her balance in a pose.

Lastly, the box of records received her long stare daily, because she could only remember the night she had found him digging through them. How he recalled the memory of dancing with a pretty girl once before. How she hadn't found "the one" and how she had said love at first sight wasn't real. She had been wrong.

Love at first sight was more real than anything she had ever felt. It had nothing to do with the very first time you laid eyes on that person, it was the very first time you really saw them. The real them, their souls shining through their eyes and their hearts on display carried by the words they spoke. It was the look she shared with Bucky the first time taking him to Susanna's Café with the McGraths, when everything had faded away and there was only him. And maybe it didn't strike her right then at that moment, but it left its impact evidently enough—it hit her every night.

Fate had once decided she was to be cursed, devastated, and ultimately destroyed by a marionette solider. Fate had been foiled, and instead they had chosen their own paths. And although he was gone, she knew it and she couldn't change it; she missed him. So, she continued trying to walk on. Pretending once again, in yet another way, exploring herself.

Bellamy went to the "self-help" section of the bookstore and felt incredibly self-conscious at looking at them, and even more frustrated that none of the ones she skimmed seemed to have the right answer. Books had never failed her before, but evidently there was a first for everything. For the first time in a long time, she took a bubble bath and didn't limit her time. She started drinking more tea, with lemon and honey. Opened the balcony doors and the windows and deep cleaned her apartment and washed the blankets she had left out on the couch and finally put them back into storage, albeit reluctantly. She was wearing shorts and loose tank tops and even t-shirts. Keeping her hair in ponytails and braids, not in perfect curls. Painting her nails pastel purple.

But there were still days where she stayed in bed, reading Charlotte's Web and wondering what his thoughts were as he read certain parts as Billie Holiday played in the background, the ache intensifying just a bit more.

It was nearing supper one night and Bellamy was wondering what she was going to eat, not entirely having the motivation to go all out while also knowing she was getting low on supplies. There was a quick blunt knock on her door and she frowned towards it, automatically wary. The feeling melted quickly into delicate hope.

"W-Who is it?" She called out with her hand hesitating on the lock. There was a pause.

"Pizza delivery." The feeling evaporated at the young voice and suspicion quickly took its place once more.

"I didn't order pizza."

"Yeah you did, it's already paid." She frowned, but still didn't open the door.

"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong place."

"I can read back the order if you want? I mean…this is the right place. A large pepperoni? For Steve?" Bellamy pursed her lips into a frown before she sighed heavily and reluctantly unlocked the door to see a mildly confused pizza boy. "You're…not Steve, I'm assuming."

"No, I certainly am not." She said as she took the box with a fixed smile. "You said I—Steve—already paid?"

"Yes, ma'am—handsome tip as well. Give Steve my thanks." She began shutting the door.

"Oh, I'll give him something." She muttered under her breath, sighing to herself and staring down at the box.

It was a nice gesture of course, but it was also an unwanted one. She didn't ask for Steve's pity and she certainly didn't want it. But, she wasn't one to waste anything, so she ate the pizza with a begrudging scowl.

The next time she was made aware of Steve's presence it was a bit more blatant. She had just gotten back from running and wished she had ran a little bit longer at the sound of polite knocking accompanied by a clear voice.

"Bellamy?" She heard Steve call and she stared at the door incredulously before she wiped the sweat from her forehead and opened the door with a stern face. Steve smiled in greeting before his face fell a bit and he cleared his throat. "Er…good morning?" She only blinked at him, and she watched him try to recover, scratching the back of his neck. "Oh, were you…early morning workout?" He assumed, gesturing to her workout gear.

"Running, what do you want?" Steve winced, raised his eyebrows, and tried to keep going.

"Oh, great. Say, you know, I go running every morning and now that I'm back living here maybe we could go running together, if you wanted a partner—"

"No thanks, now why are you here, Steve?" He chuckled at her now and gave her a knowing smile.

"Well, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd stop by and invite you to lunch." Bellamy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as she leaned against the door frame.

"You know, Steve, just because you have my address doesn't mean you can just show up at my house uninvited. Or order pizza."

"Well, I knew if I called, you would've likely just said no, hung up, and ignored my calls. It's harder to turn someone down face to face."

"Try me." He chuckled.

"I don't doubt it. But I'm not taking no for an answer." She heaved a long sigh and rubbed her temple. "It's funny, most times if you send someone free food you become closer."

"It was unsolicited." She retorted, shooting him a look.

"I was trying to be nice. But, I won't do it again unless you ask, alright? Unless you refuse to get lunch with me today. Then I'll send one every week." She only glared and he grew serious. "Okay; I actually wanted to talk to you. In person. I figured over lunch it would be more polite and comfortable. I'll even pay." Bellamy inspected Steve for a moment before she shut the door on him and went to grab her purse. She came back and opened the door and he smiled hopefully.

"Just lunch, if we can make it quick." Steve watched her lock up her apartment.

"Busy schedule?" He assumed and she couldn't answer; truthfully, her schedule was completely open.

* * *

Bellamy looked around the small sandwich shop, noting the knick-knacks and huge plaque on the wall explaining how the store was passed down through generations along with its humble beginnings. She'd never actually been in despite eyeing the shop every time she passed, and it made her realize she and Steve might have the same taste in places.

"Why are we here, may I finally ask?" She spoke up after they had ordered and taken their seats in the corner. Steve made a slight face at her across the table.

"Do you not eat this kind of thing?"

"That's not what I meant. I mean, what did you want to talk about?"

"I don't exactly want to just drop it on you…"

"I would prefer if you would." Steve eyed her hesitantly now.

"I invited you here assuming we were friends, but for some reason I feel like I'm wrong now. It's harder to ask." She studied him for a long moment before a waitress came and dropped off their plates, trying to see the same man Bucky had often told her of. All she saw now was the picture-perfect Captain America, not the sickly asthmatic who only wished to fight the war. "I'm sorry." He finally blurted out. Bellamy blinked.

"Why?"

"I get it now, why you're being so standoffish again. We all lost something after everything was said and done, but I didn't realize you were completely alone. And we were friends, but now I understand if you don't see me that way, after not making sure you weren't okay." For some reason, a lump was growing in her throat. "So, the sandwich is on me. Forgive me? We can just start over and I promise, I'll be—"

"Steve, no. I…It's okay. I never stopped considering you a friend." If anything, she knew more about him now than she ever did. She swallowed and just wanted the lump to go away. "I don't expect a free meal. I actually needed the time to myself, so there's no reason to feel bad."

"Still. The sandwich is on me." He smiled at her across the table as she looked up. "That's what friends do."

"You're one hell of a friend, Steve." She said. "I don't think really I deserve that."

"Don't say that—"

"Or want it." She interrupted him, and stared down instead at the sandwich. Steve was silent for the moment.

"We're not talking about sandwiches anymore, are we?" Bellamy watched him evenly before she looked away. "That's your problem." She looked up, and he crunched down on a potato chip. "You're afraid of ending up alone, but you're too afraid of actually depending on people in any kind of relationship."

"I'm not afraid; I don't _want_ to depend on anyone—"

"Exactly. But you can't do that, you can't just live off of random strangers you meet and live vicariously through their life and experiences. You have to have your own, you have to make your own." She opened her mouth, but she couldn't speak, and Steve raised an eyebrow as if he had made a point. And, frustrated with her hands tied, she had to shut it. It wasn't that she couldn't find the words, she couldn't say them. She had her own memories, she made them—created them—with Bucky. So, she looked down.

"Look, Bellamy, I'm just going to be honest with you; I think you're alone too much. Especially now, without S.H.I.E.L.D." She sighed. "I know what you've lost in life, and I know, maybe from experience, that it makes you not want to get close to anyone. It'd be too painful to lose more people. And I'm luckier, because I still have the Avengers. I still can serve and feel like I have a purpose. Do you have that? Other than pushing yourself to run that extra mile in the morning?" She glared back down at the table; someone had finally found her sore point and it stung, like someone poking an open nerve underneath a tooth. "I'm letting you know you can depend on me. And I want you to move into the Avenger's tower." She looked up quickly, incredulously.

" _Why_ would I ever do that, are you out of your mind?"

"Hear me out, okay? This isn't easy for me to ask. But I figured I'd just give it a shot, so here goes nothing. I want you to consider helping me out again, and I know you said maybe in the future, and I'm just hoping that's now." She settled back against the booth seat.

"…About Bucky." Steve looked up at her with an odd look on his face, before he continued on.

"Yeah. With everything going on, I'm getting busier with the Avengers and HYDRA, and now it's just Sam looking for him. He's doing his best, but…and then there's you. I mean, you don't even have to help Sam with that, you could help us. You could help us with organizing missions, or you don't even have to do that. If you want, you could even just move in and think it over, just so you're not alone every night. The thought of you going back to some empty apartment kinda hurts me."

"So, that's why you ordered the pizza." He cracked a grin.

"I was just trying any way to make you remember you're not alone. Just consider it, alright?"

"There's…absolutely nothing to consider. I am just fine on my own, Steve." He chuckled to himself, looking down at his sandwich and scratching his temple.

"Bellamy, you are the most hard-headed person I've ever met. It's not a crime to feel lonely, stop torturing yourself."

"If staying alone is torturing myself, I'd hate for you to find out what real torture is." Although she knew he was more right than anything; despite all her efforts of trying, she discovered at least one thing about herself and it was she hated spending her life alone now, pining. Steve's face softened, and he reached out to touch her arm, which she quickly drew away.

"Why are you crying if it's no big deal?" She blinked, finally feeling moisture against her eyelashes before she quickly pushed her way out of the booth. With sharp and hasty motions, she pulled her wallet out and threw money on top of the sandwich. "Bellamy, wait…"

"I can't, Steve." She mumbled before hurrying out of the shop, hearing him calling her name and not looking back.

* * *

Her apartment felt colder now, walking back in. It got colder and colder as the day went on, so she went to the roof before the sun could fully set. Now she understood what Bucky meant that day she found him on the balcony, hoping the sun could just warm him up.

Without even consciously deciding it, she wound up where they had been sitting and drinking wine—she could tell by the lingering red stain on the concrete.

For some reason as she stared out towards the city, the memory of her finding Bucky one night after a nightmare, distraught, came and hit her. As he started to calm down more and even out his breathing, she watched him carefully with the little moonlight filtering in through the living room windows.

"You know how caterpillars turn into butterflies?" She had asked him lightly, watching his eyebrows pull down slightly.

"A caterpillar turn…?" Bewildered, he shook his head. "No. Why?"

"That's what a man asked me once, at the coffee shop. The biggest man I've ever met. I was just as confused as you, and he just smiled and rolled up his sleeve. He had a tattoo of a butterfly on the top of his arm, and he explained he had just gotten out of prison. Said he made some mistakes early on in his life, got caught up in the wrong crowd. He read in prison about butterflies, and he said it was just about the most life changing experience he'd ever had, about how they make their own cocoon and sometimes it looks like they're dying, until they shed their skin and come out of them completely new. They fly out into the world better than they were before, seeing things they never saw. He just moved to New York and had a job interview the next day. I don't even know if he got the job, I never saw him again." She had been sitting in the armchair close by him and watched him take in the information all with a frown, before he snorted and rubbed his eyes.

"So, that story stuck with you, looking on the bright side and all that?" He asked.

"I remember thinking, that's well and all…but I couldn't relate." She smiled at him ironically. "I thought how lucky am I to have everything in my life figured out. We never really plan for life to throw a curveball, we don't plan on having to go through a self-transformation once we think we've got it all figured out." Bucky sat up now, growing a little more thoughtful. Open, maybe, she remembered watching his features relax a bit more and grow more thoughtful.

"So…are we supposed to be butterflies?" She smiled at him more genuinely that time.

"Not yet, that's the point. You're still changing right now, and so am I. Maybe it doesn't feel like it. But we are. And it's okay and it won't be perfect or look pretty but one day it will all be a lot better. But for now, if you need this place to be your cocoon, it can be. You're safe here." He sat staring at her, contemplating, as she leaned back in the chair, growing thoughtful herself.

"What would you look like?"

"What?"

"As a butterfly. What would you look like?" His questions surprised her, and it surprised her more that she went along with it.

"Oh. Well…I'm not sure what butterflies are native to New York—"

"It doesn't matter, butterflies can fly they can get anywhere. It doesn't even have to be a real butterfly, just what would you want to look like?"

"Why don't you tell me, and then I'll tell you."

"Okay," he agreed, his eyes searching above his head. "I think you would be blue. Blue and purple. Probably with white spots. Long wings." She smiled, trying not to laugh.

"Why?"

"It's calming, your eyes are blue."

"I was picturing green. Actually, I think I was picturing more of a moth." He chuckled and she laughed. "I think you would be…"

"I think _I_ would be the moth."

"A silver one? With a red star?" She teased, smiling when she earned another chuckle from him. "No, you wouldn't be a moth. You would be…orange. Grand, like, sweeping grand wings lined with black, covered with white spots. And yellow like sunbursts. You would be fond and found in big, warm, green fields." He laughed, before he smiled.

"I'd love to be in a big green field right now." And her smile had softened as she watched him stare down at his hands in his lap, imagining just what that would be like.

"Me too."

The dam broke and every memory came tumbling back through, all the times he struggled to smile and every time it came through just as easy as the breeze. Just his presence. How many things had he seen so far now? Could he still not sleep? Did he think of her as much as she thought of him?

He used to look at her with something like cold recognition in his eyes, as though he'd known her for years. Maybe that's exactly what it was; he had spent years watching her, studying her face. And yet, she had never met him until now, and she was going through almost the same thing in a way. It felt like her soul had known him forever. And she was so young still, but there was already a stamp on her soul, something etched into her bones.

Him.

It was dark when Bellamy made her way back into her apartment and sat in the unbearable silence. Unbearable, unbearable, all she could hear was the sound of her own unsteady breathing. It was driving her crazy, until a thought broke through.

 _Don't isolate yourself._

Her hand reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone and dialed a number without thinking.

" _Hello?"_ She swallowed and prayed her voice was steady.

"Steve?" She tested her vocal cords tentatively.

" _Bellamy, is everything alright?"_ Air moved steadily in and out of her nose before she replied.

"I hope your offer still stands…is it possible to have a room ready for me by the time I get there?" It was silent on his end, and she wondered for a moment if he was still mad, or perhaps, if the time was indecent. What would she do if he told her to wait?

" _I reserved you a room ages ago. It's ready when you are._ "

"I think I am. Now." She began moving through her apartment, pulling a duffel bag from her closet.

" _Just hang tight_. _I'll be over to pick you up soon."_

* * *

"I was prepared to help you pack. I should've known you'd be ready to go." Steve murmured as they stood in her silent apartment, for perhaps the last time until God knows when.

"It's…sort of a cocoon. Here, I can think and not be interrupted." He read her mind.

"That can be good and bad." She sighed lightly in agreement to his words. "Well, maybe it's time to get out of here for a while."

"I'm sorry for skipping out on lunch, by the way. It was a lovely place." Steve dug money out of his pocket and held it out to her, which she didn't touch.

"I took the sandwiches to go—yours went to Tony, and I don't think you'd want to pay for his." She took the money back with a frown, and Steve chuckled knowingly. "But yeah, something told me you would like it. I pass by it every day, and it was just a hunch."

"You'd never been there before?" Bellamy asked, and Steve shook his head.

"It was decent." She was silent and thoughtful, until Steve picked up her duffel bag. "Here, let me take that. Come on, I hope you don't mind a ride on a motorcycle." She was forced to move and lock the door behind them.

Outside, Steve handed her a helmet with a grin. "Approve?"

"Where's yours?" She teased as she put it on, but did feel gratitude warm her heart at the gesture. As she tightened her grip around Steve's sturdy frame, it almost felt like she left a piece of herself behind in her apartment. Like a dream as she rode down the streets of New York. It didn't quite feel right, but it didn't feel wrong, only different. And with Steve and his genuine sincerity it occurred to her that maybe she had found a real true definite friend in Steve. And she could embrace it.


	22. Familiar Faces

_**PART 2**_

It was morning, but Bellamy had been awake and dressed since the crack of dawn and therefore was ready at the sound of a polite knock on the door. Hoping it was Steve, she opened the door, relieved to indeed see his face, offering her a small smile.

"Good morning…" He greeted, before he trailed off, giving her a once over, and then a curious look. "You know…I've never seen you look so…" She looked down at her own white t-shirt and capris, remembering with a pang how she had worn them to Coney Island last. A harder pang hit her when she looked at her boat shoes that Bucky had teased relentlessly.

"Casual?" She finished for him. Steve smiled again.

"Suddenly, you don't look as intimidating."

"Hm. Maybe I should change." He chuckled.

"I just came to give you a tour, but I wanted to talk to you first. Is that okay?" She nodded her head and opened her door wider to let him inside the room. It was a nice room, light and bright with natural sunlight and full of white. Clean and tidy. Steve walked in and took a look around for a moment, noticing on the desk _What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire_ a second before she did.

"Is this all you brought with you?" He teased, walking closer to pick it up, but she beat him to it and pressed her palm over it firmly, and tried to smile so as not to look suspicious.

"Almost. Sorry, it's um, old. Passed down—fragile, you know? Falls apart when you pick it up." Steve shrugged it off politely and she swallowed in relief as she took her palm away, feeling it burn as though it had actually been touching the note still hidden between the pages. Steve had walked over to the window to stare out.

"I didn't want to ask you last night, because it wasn't important then. It still isn't, of course; my offer still stands, you're always welcome here. But..." he turned back around to her and she didn't miss the subtle shades of desperation in his eyes. "Did you think about what I asked you?"

Bellamy moved to sit down on her bed, bowing her head and looking at her clasped hands. It was all she had thought about leaving the sandwich shop, all she thought about all night. How could she possibly keep the fact that she had been in contact with Bucky this entire time a secret from Steve?

She didn't answer fast enough, Steve was already shaking his head reassuringly with a small smile.

"It's okay, you can still think it over—you can even tell me no."

"No, no…I did. I did think about it." She still couldn't look him in the eye.

Bucky had said he didn't want to be looked for, but maybe…maybe if she helped Steve and Sam, they could all find him. It could be fixed, the two of them could help her help Bucky. She could see him again, she couldn't help it; she would give anything just to see him and be able to talk to him.

"I would be more than happy to help you and Sam find Bucky." Bellamy finally said, staring at her hands and noting in the back of her mind how odd the sensation of holding one's own hand felt. Especially after you found someone else's fit so perfectly.

"Alright, now why don't you look at me and try to tell me the same thing. Convincingly." She looked up to find Steve watching her with creases in his forehead. "You don't have to feel obligated to help Sam and I, Bellamy. I know after everything that happened—"

"No," she cut him off and his frown deepened a bit out of apparent concern. She took a breath. "I...my anger was misdirected in the beginning. It took some time, but I finally realized that the two of us…Bucky and I…we were both sort of victims. And I know now that it wasn't his fault. He's the last person I would blame." Steve inspected her for a moment, taking in what she had told him.

"You call him Bucky now." He noted finally, his frown easing a bit. "You never did before."

"It helps remind me that he's a real person." She paused, almost tasting wine on her tongue, and Steve was still watching her closely as she stood. "I want to help you, Steve. I can feel useful again and help Sam out and maybe we can find him and…help him."

"Are you sure?" She hadn't felt this sure of anything in recent memory.

"Yes." He gave her a grateful smile before he stuck his hand out, and they shook.

"Thank you, I appreciate it, Bellamy." She tried smiling back. "So. How 'bout that tour? We can see if the others are awake. Sometimes Nat makes pancakes." Another twinge of nerves hit her, a different kind of uneasiness enveloped her that she had somehow forgotten about: her new roommates.

It wasn't as if she hadn't ever met them; she had been on the helicarrier when they were first assembled for the New York incident. However, they were...more than aware of her feelings of them. Well, prior feelings.

"You remember Tony, right?" Steve asked as he took her out towards the large kitchen. Tony was standing front and center at the counter, drinking coffee.

"Yes, of course." She offered him a polite nod, and Steve wore a cautious expression that almost made him look nervous.

"Tony, this is Bellamy Burke, she—" Tony hurried to finish his sip of coffee in order to cut Steve off.

"Right, right, right—of course. How could I forget?" He almost couldn't cut Steve off fast enough. He directed his gaze to her with something of a sarcastic look. "The girl who said, oh what was it…oh! 'Being Fury's Deputy now just means I clean up the Avenger's messes.' Right?" Bellamy's smile twitched.

"Right." She confirmed, noticing how Clint and Natasha behind Tony's shoulder gave her a glance. "Time passes, opinions change. I figured if Steve actually isn't all that bad, the rest of you can't be either." Steve raised an eyebrow but now wore a smile again. Tony shrugged, but one corner of his mouth upturned.

"Steve told us you were coming to stay. A friend of Cap's is probably a good person, so we'll just forget all those old grievances. Including what I heard you said about my tower—that you're now staying in, go figure. Past is in the past and all that. Muffin?" Bellamy took a blueberry one that Tony had offered.

"Thanks, I, um, I do appreciate it." She said, earning a bigger smile from Steve and a small one from Natasha.

"Steve also mentioned you were coming to help him out." Clint said as he chewed on a crispy piece of toast. She wondered just how much the rest of the Avengers knew about Steve's side quest.

"Yes. To be honest, it will be good to have somewhat of a task to work towards." He nodded in understanding as he chewed.

"We've been lucky to keep busy." Natasha agreed, also seemingly voicing Clint's thoughts accurately; the two always seemed to be on the same page.

"Did you pick up any interesting hobbies after S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Clint asked as he spread butter on his second piece of toast.

"Baking, if anything." Bellamy replied.

"Oh, Betty Crocker now, are we?" Tony commented and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Just trying to readjust." She said, her tone straining which seemed to make Natasha smile down at the orange she was peeling.

"It's nice seeing you back around again." She commented, and Tony turned to send Bellamy his glance.

"Yeah. Nice to see you without a stick up your—"

"Tony." Steve cut the billionaire off who merely rolled his eyes and gathered up two plates of breakfast.

"Sorry, Cap. Without your _panties_ in a wad." He stated, straight-faced, as he passed them. Clint laughed to himself mischievously. "I'll be in the lab."

"Steve hates that word." Natasha explained, stifling a small smile herself. Bellamy gave Steve a side glance and noticed him scoffing.

"Alright, alright. C'mon, I want to show you another place. I'm sure you'll like it." They left the spies there in the kitchen, with Steve explaining Bruce was hiding away in the lab, nervous about her appearance, but he would likely introduce himself later. Thor was always unpredictable apparently and Steve told her to stay "prepared" to find him in any place in the tower, from watching the laundry cycle or using the workout facility as a form of amusement more than anything.

"To be honest, I wasn't prepared for how big it was going to be." Bellamy marveled beside Steve as he guided her through.

"I know. It took a while to adjust, but Tony had this place equipped to sort of welcome us all and give us what we needed. Plus, there's no way I could afford a place in Brooklyn at the moment." Whatever response she was going to give disappeared from her head immediately at the sight of towering bookcases surrounding a cozy sitting area.

"Oh my God…" she breathed as she stood in the middle of the room, doing a slow circle. Steve was watching her knowingly when she tore her eyes away.

"This is all just for leisure, believe it or not. We have more files and information stored on the top floors. It's working as our headquarters for now." She inspected a few of the books, nodding to herself, nothing but impressed.

"I guess Tony really does have nothing but the best." Steve chuckled.

"So…" he began, leaning against one of the leather couches with his arms crossed. "Baking, huh?" She chuckled, abandoning the books.

"Well, really just apple pie. But it's my grandmother's recipe and I've perfected it now." She had to fight to keep her smile on her face. Steve didn't seem to notice and smiled easily.

"Pie is my favorite. I'm excited to try it." She turned away from him, going back to the bookcases.

"What makes you think I'll bake you one?" She asked dryly, reading book titles almost in an effort to try and overfill her mind to shove Bucky's face and every memory of him out of her head. Steve's laugh was background noise.

"I've missed you." She blinked to herself, before she turned back around to look at him over her shoulder. He was wearing a light smile.

"What?" She murmured blankly. He shrugged his shoulders unapologetically.

"I guess I realized I missed getting mildly insulted on a daily basis." She said nothing again. "So, I'm assuming I'll find you tucked away here or in your room most of the time?" Steve asked. She bit her lip.

"Actually…one of the reasons I agreed to come here is because you're probably right. About…depending on people. And I'm trying not to isolate myself." She swallowed. Steve seemed a bit surprised, as well as confused. She walked back over to him. "It's a bit hard, but I guess a lot of things are in the beginning." He nodded slowly before he gave her a genuinely encouraging smile.

"You'll get there, Bellamy."

"So, what about you." She changed the topic lightly away from her. "What does Captain America do in his spare time?"

"Well," he mulled something over in his head before he jerked his head. "I'll show you. Come on."

They ended up in the empty gym area, equipped with pretty much every single exercise equipment invented and imagined, unconventional and not.

"Nat and I spar here sometimes. I think I spend more time here than anyone else. I know you like to run because you can get out everything you're feeling, right?" She nodded silently after a moment, watching him walk over to a hanging punching bag. "I do the same thing, just with this. It helps."

"With what?" His eyes grew distant.

"Everything. Anger. Guilt. When I think of the past." They were staring at each other with distant eyes, neither of them really in the present moment before Steve took a lingering look at the bag. "C'mon, I'll show you everything else. Maybe we can find Thor."

The day continued to pass with Steve showing her the rest of the tower. She met new faces: nurses, doctors, and researchers that worked in the headquarters. Some were former S.H.I.E.L.D. workers, like Maria Hill—again, proving there was nothing but the best around in the tower. More and more she felt like she was a part of something that mattered a bit more than wasting away over nothing.

Thor was in the media room, watching the TV projection on the wall displaying a fashion reality TV show. He bellowed an enthusiastic greeting to her and shook her hand with a ferocious grip, telling her with a grand grin a friend of Steve's was a friend of his. The welcoming trend of the Avengers continued and made her feel a bit guiltier of her prior misgivings.

Thor followed her and Steve back to the kitchen, where they surprised Bruce, who seemed to have snuck out of the lab to make a sandwich. He jumped and looked at them with wide eyes, wielding a butter knife.

"…Hi," he murmured, his eyes skimming over Bellamy completely and putting the knife down quickly, dusting his hands on his pants. "Um, it's nice to see you again, Miss Burke. I, uh, I meant to come and greet you earlier when you were here, but, I remembered your entirely understandable reservations of us, and I didn't want to make you nervous." He grabbed the butter knife again with a jumpy laugh. "I'm just making a sandwich, I promise." Steve shared a small smile with her.

"No worries, Dr. Banner. Thank you for having me here." She reached her hand out to Bruce, who shook her hand with a puzzled expression.

"Oh, uh, sure, sure. It's not up to me though—I mean, you're Steve's friend." Bellamy glanced behind her shoulder back towards Steve and wondered how much he had told the others about her. "I don't think any of us have any objections to you being here…are you here to help us with HYDRA…?"

"Excellent! More of the cavalry to help us defeat the enemy!" Thor encouraged from where he stood curiously inspecting Bruce's sandwich, and reached out to clap Bellamy on the back so hard that she stumbled a step forward.

"Actually—" Bellamy began, before a chime went off.

" _Captain Rogers, Sam Wilson has arrived_." A mechanical voice sounded and Bellamy looked around the room.

"That's just JARVIS." Steve reassured her, and she blinked before thinking to herself, _Stark_ , and nodded slowly.

"Of course." She replied, just as Sam came over the corner, a bag in his hands.

"What's for lunch?" He asked.

"BLT's!" Thor said behind her with a mouthful of Bruce's sandwich. Bruce sighed and scratched his forehead.

"There has to be bacon for a BLT, Thor…" He replied, merely going and getting more supplies for another sandwich.

"Actually, I thought we could go and grab something and talk?" Steve offered looking between her and Sam. "Bellamy, you remember Sam, right?"

"Yes, of course. It's nice to see you again, Sam."

"Likewise," he replied with a small smile and a nod. "Let me just put my bag down and we can go."

* * *

Steve explained to Bellamy how he often liked spending time outside the tower so as not to feel trapped up in one world and still experience the outside world, that Sam helped him with that. He also explained he often had to wear a hat now, sometimes with sunglasses, to keep from getting recognized and drawing attention while out in public. Sam chimed in with amusement about how many girls would dress up as Avengers—Captain America was a popular one—and try and get inside the tower, especially during its first month of opening.

"I come down from DC for a few stretches of days to help out Steve when I can." Sam explained as they sat outside of a diner, the only people in sight. "It took him a while to get me a spare room at the tower; I see you got one right away just fine." He shot a look at Steve who rolled his eyes.

"Sam, it was still being renovated. I didn't know if Tony had another spare room."

"In that big old tower, you didn't know if you had a spare room?" Sam retorted as Bellamy chuckled.

"Sam will probably be sticking around more now that you're here. Our search kinda stalled for a while when I got busy...but I just can't give up." Steve frowned up towards the buildings he stared at. "I appreciate the both of you for helping. I know he doesn't mean much to either of you and I know it's a dangerous task."

"We wouldn't be here if we didn't want to be." Sam told him, playful teasing set aside for a moment. "Plus, I feel more official now that I got a former S.H.I.E.L.D. Deputy working with me. We need laminated nametags or badges, maybe Stark can hook us up with that easier than a room."

"So…" Bellamy cleared her throat. "This entire time you haven't gotten close to finding a single trace?" Steve sighed.

"There was one time, the time I called you a while back this year. There was a sighting of him around the Smithsonian. We couldn't find anything. We came to the conclusion its more likely than anything that he fled the country, probably a long time ago." Bellamy stared at her clasped hands.

"So, we're going to be going to different countries on a wild goose chase with only our intuition? Guesses?"

"Not exactly." Steve said, exchanging a look with Sam. "Back in June, we got another lead of him in the area around downtown Manhattan." Bellamy's heart pounded. "It's not much to go off from, and maybe he left again. Maybe it wasn't even him. But it's something since earlier this year."

"You haven't heard anything, seen anything from people, news, sources?" Sam asked. She wasn't sure what he assumed she was, but his tone made it sound as if she were a true asset to their search, that she had more tools than them, more knowledge. Ironically, he was right, but that was likely due to her former affiliation to S.H.I.E.L.D., not because of her time spent one-on-one with Bucky himself.

She appraised Steve for a moment, wondering what he would say if she told him how she had fallen asleep beside Bucky on the same couch in her apartment, that they had shared dinners and midnight talks and wine. That they had nearly shared a kiss on the Wonder Wheel. Then she remembered all the times she had already lied about Bucky to Steve, directly and deliberately. She opened her mouth, but was saved when a waitress came with their food.

It gave her an extra moment to think, to remember the way Bucky spoke about Steve. About not being ready to confront his former best friend or be found by him. And then it made sense, why she hadn't yet told Steve and why she still couldn't.

"No, I haven't heard anything. I don't exactly have 'sources,' I hardly have any contacts. I've tried to lie low after everything." She finally answered, staring instead at her food. Sam sighed, but it sounded determined rather than tired.

"Then I guess we got our work cut out for us, girl."

* * *

It was hard to focus on the past when surrounded by the Avengers. The more days she spent in their presence, the more they began growing on her. They were lighthearted and friendly and nice distractors of thoughts, and she was glad Steve had them. Even Tony was bearable, to her surprise. She didn't at all regret her decision, but it still didn't keep her from thinking of Bucky when alone in her room. She sat on her bed with her legs folded underneath her, rereading his note for the first time in a long while.

Bellamy just couldn't understand how he could leave; was he hurting like her too? Aching? There was something like embarrassment in her chest now even when she thought of their good moments, which she realized was the feeling of rejection. For some reason, she wasn't quite enough to make him stay. Just as she wasn't good enough to take on a new project of rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D., so she was here, taken in by Steve like a stray dog because he had a bigger heart than most. He even made it feel like she was doing him a favor. She chuckled and as she did so, tears flicked away from her face.

On her bed was the stuffed animal Bucky had won her and the sight of it made her realize she had been falling for him, and now without him, she had tumbled all the way to rock bottom alone. It was such a painful sight, something so soft and innocent with its white fur and pink ribbon, tormenting her heart, forever never letting her forget his existence with each night she fell asleep holding it in her arms.

There was a soft knock on her door and she quickly silenced her crying, pressing her hand to her mouth as she took in a sharp breath through her nose. Of course; she had forgotten the time and realized she was meant to meet with Steve for dinner. She jumped as her door clicked open gently.

"Hey," Steve murmured softly, with a face of pity. She turned away from him quickly, wiping her tears away. "I'm sorry, I heard you and you don't have to come out; I brought you some food." He had a plate and placed it on her desk. She nodded her head with her back to him still, glancing back when she didn't hear him leave. He was hesitating at the door before he stepped in and shut the door behind him. She sighed as he sat on her bed beside her.

"Steve…" She began.

"I know, you probably don't want me here. But I know there's probably a part of you that doesn't want me to leave. I know I feel like that sometimes. I can leave if you want me to." Now, she didn't do much to hide her tears with him sitting beside her. Instead she looked back at him and remembered the tour he had given her back on the first day.

They had been going to a different floor, and she had realized they were heading for the elevator. But before she could stop Steve or mention it at all, he stopped at his own realization and looked at her with a look of immediate understanding, a look of apology.

"Let's take the stairs." He had told her casually, without question.

"You remembered about the elevator." She told him, now back in her room and away from the memory. He stared between her eyes and nodded after a second.

"Did you know I still haven't been back by to where I used to live, in Brooklyn?" Bellamy shook her head silently. "I love Brooklyn. But...not only can I not afford to live there, I don't know if I can go back." He shrugged calmly. "We all have things we avoid, for whatever reason. But you can't avoid the things that make you cry, because that means it still hurts enough to make you cry over it. It's forcing you to recognize it. Do you want to talk about it?" Bellamy turned away to stare back at the teddy bear and looked away when Steve glanced towards it too.

"It's just...I'm still struggling to play by life's rules. They are very particular and unfair sometimes." Steve frowned a bit.

"You don't have to play by anybody's rules, Bellamy."

"If you let someone in, you don't get to tell them not to leave." Steve frowned a bit more, looking down as if he realized finally what she meant. "You choose to let them in, but they choose to do whatever they want."

"If you can't change the situation, you have to change your attitude." He said, reciting a phrase she had heard before. "It's something I learned to try and live by."

"That's much easier said than done." He nodded in agreement. "First, you have to deal with everything that comes with it, which is valid, but you feel so pathetic and foolish. It's foolish for me to feel that I'm not enough, but I do and I can't shake it and I've never felt this way in my life." Steve seemed very confused.

"Who told you that you weren't enough?"

"My own mind, jumping to conclusions. Our worst enemy is ourselves, usually."

"Bellamy, look at me." She sighed before she looked up. Steve had a soft smile on his face, and she focused on that, wishing to find that kind of peace. "When you said that you picked up on baking, I didn't believe it for a second. Because the old Bellamy I knew? She would never have the time for that." She chuckled without humor.

"You never really knew me, Steve." She told him dismissively.

"I know you weren't like this." He gestured with a nod towards her. "Even before you were this, wearing colors and _jeans_ ," Steve made it sound like a big deal and she snorted. "You were still more than some people could ever even hope to become. You intimidated people because of how capable you were, but now you're more open to even more than before and you're growing. You've changed, I can see it. And you're still changing, you don't..." She finally looked back up at Steve.

"Have my panties in a wad?" He sent her a look, shaking his head and she smiled briefly, before he finished his prior thought with the same peaceful smile he had before.

"You don't have any reason to feel like you're not enough. Even if you're not where you want to be." She stared at Steve, taking in his soft words, trying to figure out where she wanted to be.

Suddenly, the anonymous package that someone left at her apartment popped back into her head. She frowned to herself slightly.

"Steve...if you knew anything about S.H.I.E.L.D., you would tell me, right?"

"Of course, Bellamy. But it's gone, and we have to move on." He was telling the truth, and once again it wasn't him who left her the information. "Is that what this is about, S.H.I.E.L.D.?" She sighed and shrugged bitterly, once again faced with the possibility that maybe it was Bucky who had left her the information. But that only seemed silly to believe, that he was still keeping tabs on happenings that affected her life.

In reality, he probably rarely ever thought about her now, and she just had to accept that.

"I guess I just have a hard time letting go."

"Are you hungry?" Steve asked suddenly after a moment, staring at her and waiting until she shook her head. "Good. I've got an idea." He stood up and waited for her to follow, so she did, without really much of anything else to do.

He brought her back to the gym, empty again, and she watched as Steve began wrapping his hands.

"Did you know Bucky was the one who taught me how to box?" His name came at her like a jab and she had to remain expressionless. "He also taught me it could be therapy. I could punch at a bag when I was angry at the world. I didn't do a lot of damage back then, but…" He finished before he looked at her with his eyebrows raised and hands extended. She blinked before she realized what he was doing. It was an offer.

"Oh, uh..." She obliged after hesitating and allowed him to begin wrapping her hands too. "I've never done this before."

"I'll show you how." Steve's eyes flashed, but he said nothing. She was still hesitating even when he finished and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You know, it's still scary for other people too. You're not the only one. I can reach out to you and you might decide to leave and change your name and never contact me again. I'd probably be offended, but…" She chuckled. "I wouldn't regret helping you out and being your friend. Do you regret anything in your life?" She stared at Steve and thought long and hard.

"No." She replied. "But sometimes I regret not doing more. Saying more."

"Well, now you can do more and say whatever's on your mind. Don't hold back anymore. You just need to move on from the past and remember to do more with your present. Maybe boxing can help you with that like it helped me." Lately, with everything she had been feeling, she was willing to give anything a try.

"Fine. Okay, show me how."


	23. Affirmation

**Punch.**

 _"I know I can't get to where I want to be alone. I need your help."_

 _"…Of course, Bucky. But…I don't even know what I'm doing. I'm only trying my best."_

 _"I know, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate that. And that's it. It's all I need."_

 **Punch.**

" _At some point, Bellamy, we're going to have to face reality, you know."_

 **Kick.**

 _So don't worry about HYDRA, or me. It's not worth it. I hope you understand._

 **Punch, punch.**

Bellamy stopped her assault and tried to stop the memory reel in her head, panting and focusing on the bag in front of her instead of dwelling inside her head. She brushed the hair that was sticking to the sweat on her forehead away and only then did she notice Steve at the other punching bag, unwrapping his fists and staring at her in mild concern. She swallowed.

"Does it help?" When she looked back at him he was staring instead at his hands.

She thought about her time so far in the tower. Still she found herself trying to adapt and noticed she only stuck close to Steve, and felt comfortable only around Natasha, Sam, and Bruce. Clint was fine and didn't really bother her, and she could coexist around Tony and didn't jump so much anymore at the sound of Thor's booming voice. She was even getting used to JARVIS.

In her heart, though, there was still unhealed damage, like a toothache in her mouth she couldn't work around or an intense inch she couldn't get rid of. The bear was still in her arms every night; he was still in her mind every night with a new unanswered question. Why did he leave so soon, why did he stay for so long, did he regret that? She felt old and new, on her way in and still struggling to make her way out.

"It does." She replied to Steve, before she shrugged past him back to her room.

Without really noticing, without really trying, she soon started growing closer to Sam. When the Avengers left to go overseas once more, hunting after HYDRA, it was just the two of them left together. Their search so far had been futile and small, with no trace of Bucky found, but she knew that was what was going to happen; he didn't want to be found. However, they kept up with the search, both of them for the same reason—Steve.

"What do you say we take today off?" Sam asked her as he stopped by her room and found her staring out the window at the rain pouring down. She glanced over at him.

"Have some errands to run?" She asked, and he made a face before he sighed.

"It's two things. One I'm proud of and one I'm not." He laughed and she made a small smile.

"Okay, good excuse first."

"Back at DC, I used to work down at the VA. Being away, I can't help but feel a little...guilty. I've been wanting to head down to a local vet center close by." Bellamy nodded, smiling.

"And not-so-good excuse?"

"…Football season starts back up tonight." She laughed, shaking her head.

"Well, I'd say the good cancels out the rest. We probably can't get much done in this rain anyways." Sam's lingering grin stayed and he tilted his head.

"How about you head down with me? We could stop and get some lunch after—I'll even pay. Then we can watch the game, assuming you're into football; _my_ ass will be watching either way." Bellamy chuckled, turning back to stare out the window before she looked away and joined Sam's side.

"I'll go if you let me pay." She offered. He only shrugged.

"You don't have to ask me twice." She smiled. "You ever been volunteering before?" She cleared her throat.

"Yes, usually with children." Sam nodded.

"Then you understand." She raised an eyebrow.

"Understand what?"

"It's addicting. Helping people, seeing things click, seeing them change, seeing hope in their eyes." Bellamy could picture a pair of perfect blue eyes in her head and she looked down at the ground with a frown.

"Yeah. There's nothing better."

* * *

Sam was great at what he did, and what he did helped those who were there to listen. He had a way of connecting to these people, not just because of shared experience, but deep empathy most didn't have. She couldn't help but think as she sat and listened to his seminar how much Sam's words could've helped Bucky.

"You don't get stage fright, do you?" She told him after he was through and it was just the two of them.

"Oh, never. My mom has millions of home videos of me when I was little. Center of attention. But nah, these guys are something different. I just want to offer something relatable, something they can take home and help them when it's just them and their thoughts, you know?" Bellamy nodded.

"I think you did a very great job." He grinned at her.

"Thanks. You ready for some food? 'Because I know I'm ready for a free meal." She chuckled, smiling and nodding.

"Yeah, there's this place I frequent. They have great sandwiches."

Inside Susanna's Café, it was in between busy and empty, which was fine enough for the two of them. They both ordered sandwiches and a hot cup of coffee to help detract from the rain outside. Kailyn, the same young woman that always worked there greeted Bellamy with a warm smile.

"Did I miss the McGraths this morning?" Bellamy asked as she paid for their lunch. Kailyn frowned a bit and shook her head, and Bellamy frowned; it was Tuesday.

"Actually, they stopped coming in right after you and your friend stopped. I haven't seen them in months." Bellamy grew mildly concerned and tried not to let it bother her as they chose a table near the back.

"Is it bad I forgot you actually had a life outside this and S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Sam chuckled as they sat. Bellamy chuckled too, watching different groups of people pass by the window outside on the sidewalk, trudging through the rain.

"No. I hardly had a life, actually. I just knew an older couple that comes in here every Tuesday, became fast friends. They're absolutely lovely." Sam smiled and nodded.

"So, you won't be offended if I ask you why you're single?" She looked back to him sharply. "I'm assuming you'll say the same BS as Steve about being busy, but that can't be completely true for you anymore."

"Why are you single?" She shot back. Sam's easy-going demeanor never wavered.

"Haven't met the right one yet. I've met people here and there, and you think they're perfect in the beginning, and that's when some kind of drama has to show its ugly side. But it's not a big deal to me, it'll happen when it happens. Is that how it is with you, haven't met that one yet?" She took a drink of the coffee and grimaced at the taste, before she chuckled at herself and felt the unavoidable pang of longing.

"No. I think I did." Sam frowned a bit, confused. "I think…no. I know I met the right one, but…"

"It's Steve, isn't it?" Sam said with the start of a knowing smile. Bellamy started.

"Oh—uh…" She could see Kailyn coming over with a smile and their two plates of food and looked instead back out the window as she tried to find her words. Sam started to say something else, but she wasn't listening anymore. Outside, she inspected people's faces. A young couple, a stern-faced woman, lots of men peppered in between, some young, some old.

But then there, fleetingly, she saw someone that made her heart jump. It was the same shoulder-length disheveled brown hair, even the same build, it was a man who looked exactly like that of the man who haunted her like a ghost every single night in her dreams. He was only there for an instant, before she lost him in the throng of the crowd.

Bellamy jolted out of her seat without thinking and nearly knocked Kailyn over as she rushed out of the Café onto the sidewalk, ignoring Sam calling her name and trying to peer over the heads of the disappearing crowd, getting shoved as she stood in the way of other people. Her heart was pounding and her knees were shaking as she searched desperately.

"Bucky!" She called out frantically as she pushed through the people, but no head turned. She couldn't see anyone that even remotely resembled him. Her heart sank. Behind her, she could hear Sam calling her name again. Tears of disappointment began welling in her eyes.

She couldn't go back.

Without hesitating, she continued pushing through the crowd, losing Sam behind her and continuing on her way back towards her apartment. Inside the building outside her door she took a breath in and rested her forehead against the door, feeling as though the wound in her heart had taken another hit and was even bigger than before.

With a shaky hand, she pulled her key out and unlocked her door, knowing she didn't want to be around people at the moment, people like Sam who cared enough about her well-being to question her tears. People she had to provide answers and words and explanations for.

Inside, she could breathe. The air was so still, it was a different atmosphere than the tower; it felt uninhabited. But she could breathe, and it was free. She sat down on the sofa and it almost felt foreign. Worn and tired, not of newness, but more comfortable than anything she had rested on recently.

Her cell phone started ringing and she checked it to see Sam, but didn't answer. He left a voicemail, but she didn't listen and knew it wasn't responsible but wasn't compelled to do anything about it. But she needed something to focus on and instead went to collect her mail from downstairs.

She looked through the envelopes of bills and junk before she stopped at the sight of one letter without a return address. That made it strange, but the longer she stared at it, the longer she realized she knew who's handwriting made scratchy "y's."

With blind fingers, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the paper inside, folded neatly. It was a handwritten note, resembling the one she still had inside _What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire_. In shock, she cupped her hand over her mouth.

 _To you who opened my eyes,_

 _I guess I'm the one who got inspired to write. It's true, though, everything I see now I look at differently and it's because you come to mind first. I haven't forgotten about you, not for one second. You've never left my mind, so I guess that makes you my muse._

 _I hope you're trying to live life to the fullest. I'm guessing that's why you moved into that Avenger's tower. It was on the news, I saw your face and everything else around me stopped. It seems like you're finally letting Steve in too. That's good, he's a good person. Always has been. I'm happy you're giving him a chance. He's a strong shoulder to lean on, and he'll always be there and won't ever move no matter how much you need to lean. He won't let you down._

 _I hope I won't either, but I don't know. I'm sure you've heard about the HYDRA base. It felt good, like getting a puzzle piece to finish off a bigger picture, getting redemption because it's not just my own, it's for you too. Maybe's it's all for you. I think it is._

 _Maybe you'll be happy to know I'm still reading, and I wonder with each book I see if you've already read it. There's a part of me that wishes I could be in a different world where we kissed on that Wonder Wheel and I took you with me because we just decided to run away and I didn't feel so afraid. But it's not, and I don't want you living in a world waiting for me to come to terms with everything I'm dealing with. You should move on, but I wanted you to know you changed everything._

 _I know you're probably helping Steve look for me, but you won't find me, not until I'm done. But asking you to wait for me wouldn't be fair, so I'm not. I don't know when I'll be "done," it might be twenty years from now. I wish I had met you back then, back when I was a different person, but that wouldn't have been enough time if these last five months weren't. Time is funny, and I find myself hating it more often than not._

 _I bet you'll be surprised to know I never wrote to a girl back home when I was at war. I wrote to Steve in the beginning, but I don't know if he ever got them. But never a girl, I didn't have a special one. I didn't have a picture of her to look at when things got hard. But I'm back at war again, I have a picture of you (I hope you don't mind me taking it), and I'm writing to you. And I hope you get this._

 _I hope you understand why I'm out here, and I hope you can forgive me for it. I wanted to stay, but I needed to go. This is all I have to give you right now. I can't just buy you a big wheel for all the world to see, but I can give these bastards hell and maybe that can mean something. At least that's what I tell myself._

 _I hope more than anything you're happy right now and…I miss you._

 _Sincerely yours_

Bellamy blinked and watched two identical tear drops splatter against the paper. This letter was somehow more than the last one; she needed closure after the first one, but this one didn't give her that, it gave her something better. Hope. A new understanding. Confirmation that she wasn't left in the dark, the only one out of the two of them feeling this. And more than anything, insight to a bigger picture.

Only now could see everything better. Finally, she was on top of a mountain and could see more clearly, and yes, her heart ached more than ever, but it was renewed. The wound was soothed.

Now, no return address made sense, but it also frustrated her. If she could write back, she would tell him everything that she felt in her heart. It would be hard, but she would refrain from begging him to come back and instead give him that affirmation that he had just given her. She would tell him she was rooting for him, that she was holding him close to her heart, that nothing and nobody could make her not wait for him. But she couldn't and he didn't know any of it.

She sniffed and after rereading it, tucked it carefully into her back pocket. Finally, filled with a newfound responsibility once again, she took a calming breath and paid her bills, took one last look around her apartment, and headed back to the tower so she could continue on. One step at a time, one day at a time.


	24. Impact

"You know, if you didn't want to watch football with me you could have just said so." Sam told Bellamy once she returned to the tower. It was a relief that he wasn't mad at her for ditching him at the café, or hurling 1,000 questions at her. Though, the concern in his eyes was unmissable.

Bellamy smiled, one full of relief and apology at the same time.

"You're right, I'm just tired of spending so much time with you. That's why I run with you every morning." He cracked a smile back. The concern remained in his eyes, and she knew Sam wasn't the type of person who would pester; he would drop it if she never said anything about it. But she felt that she owed Sam more. "No, I just…sitting there, I thought I saw someone I knew pass by the window. It wasn't them. I needed to get away." Sam's face grew serious as he nodded slowly.

"And this someone…I'm going to assume you were close?" Bellamy swallowed and tried not to avoid his gaze. "You…lost them?"

Lost. Sam meant it in one way, in the gone forever type of way. But as she heard the words, it suddenly was capable of so many meanings.

"We were both lost. In a way, I thought we were helping each other find ourselves. I sound bitter, but they left and left me missing them. In reality, I know I helped and they appreciated it, but they needed to go, continue on for themselves…"

"…But you still miss them." Sam finished for her lightly, nodding in understanding. Bellamy sighed and merely nodded, unable to add on the rest. Not only did she miss Bucky, she loved him. That was it. "I know that must be hard. Letting them finish their own journeys is important though. I'm not surprised you were capable of doing that, but it's not an easy thing to let go." Bellamy smirked a bit cynically.

"They didn't really give me a choice." Sam shrugged.

"Steve doesn't really have that choice either. He's still looking." Bellamy blinked and quickly swallowed, looking away from Sam and making sure she had never mentioned Bucky's name on accident. No, she hadn't, but the more she thought for the rest of the night, the more Sam's words made her delve into her mindset.

Bucky didn't want to be found. He didn't exactly want to leave, that was what he had said, but he _needed_ to. And with his words, with Sam's, she could look at the situation outside of herself. Steve wasn't going to find him, and neither was she. It would be the best thing, feelings aside, to let him go and do what he needed. Be free for once. She was neutral in between when it came to being selfish and selfless, but this was the first time she realized she couldn't be selfish, not with Bucky. And she wondered what Steve would do if he knew Bucky's thoughts, if he would back off too if he knew what she knew.

Watching football with Sam on the couch stirred old memories of nights with her brother spent on the couch together, eating wings. Despite understanding football, she didn't quite have an interest in it, but the feeling of it was comforting, as was listening to Sam react to plays and provide his own commentary. In sweatpants and socks, casually sprawled out, the tower felt like a home for the first time.

When a commercial came around, Bellamy spoke up.

"I don't think I can help Steve anymore." Sam glanced at her.

"With finding Barnes?"

"We've checked all over New York, and D.C. Before I even joined, you and Steve had even searched overseas. We haven't had any leads, no luck at all. It's a lost cause." Sam never agreed or disagreed. Instead, he merely took another chicken wing, and paused.

"Well, you're going to have to tell Steve yourself." Bellamy bit her lip, when her phone started ringing. Ironically, it was Steve himself. She frowned slightly, but answered and put him on speaker.

"Steve?"

" _Hey, Belle."_ He paused, his voice sounding tired. She sat up on the couch a little straighter. _"I'm just letting you know we finished up here sooner than expected. We'll be back home sometime late this evening."_

"Sounds good." She replied, glancing at Sam.

" _Have you been okay, is Sam behaving?"_ Sam leaned over closer to the phone.

"You're on speakerphone smartass. And actually, it's your friend who's the troublemaker." Bellamy nudged his shoulder, and the laughed together, hearing Steve's laugh come through the phone too.

" _Somehow, I doubt that."_ He replied. _"It's really good to hear you guys. I'll see you soon."_

"Take care." Bellamy hung up, still frowning a bit; Steve never called to let them know when they were coming back. He had never called her Belle before either, it came so casually that she didn't question it. She didn't question it when he called the tower 'home' either.

"I see how it is," Sam muttered beside her, giving her a side eye. "First of all, he calls _your_ phone. On top of that, you can answer _him_ , but _me_ , I go to voicemail."

"Stop." She chided, nudging him again, but she couldn't remain humorous. "Steve never calls before he's home."

"He sounded a bit off." Sam agreed. "Maybe they had a close call."

That question was answered as the team arrived back, unusually quiet. Clint disappeared silently up towards the roof, while Tony and Bruce immediately left to the lab, no words spoken. Even Thor left to his room, appearing somber and silent. Natasha rubbed Steve's back and gave him a meaningful look before she followed after Clint. Steve himself joined them in the living area, where he plopped down on the couch between Sam and herself with a grunt.

"You okay?" Sam asked quietly, patting Steve's shoulder. It appeared Steve could finally relax as he let himself slump into the couch, eyes half open, before he nodded slowly. Without thinking, Bellamy began to scan the skin that was visible for any damage. Other than a scratch on his chin, he was fine, but it didn't calm her nerves.

"I am. I am now." He said, as if he could finally believe it, before he swallowed hard and looked down. "Nat almost got hurt. It would've been my fault."

"Steve," Bellamy disagreed gently, and Steve shook his head.

"You weren't there. It was on me." He rubbed his face tiredly.

"Stop that, okay? She's still here, she's still alive. You all are. And I sure as hell doubt Nat blames you. You're all breathing, you're back early…I'd say that's a damn good day's work." Sam told him, to which Steve finally cracked a smile and looked gratefully towards his friend.

"I just shouldn't be making that kind of a stupid mistake. I…I don't know what I would have done if we lost her."

"But you didn't. Everyone makes mistakes." Bellamy smiled reassuringly towards him as he faced her. "Even Captain America." Steve smiled again, and leaned back comfortably between the two of them.

"Thanks, guys. I really am glad to be back." A few minutes later, Steve had fallen asleep. She and Sam exchanged a look of concern. Steve was wearing himself thin, always on the go, always with a new duty, a new mission, a new goal. But that was who Steve was.

"He should be in his bed," Bellamy whispered to Sam. "Not here and waking up with a stiff neck." Sam made a face at her.

"What do you want me to do, carry him to bed?" She rolled her eyes before gently shaking Steve awake. His eyes popped open quickly.

"It's okay, it's okay. It's after midnight, you should get some rest." He stared at her as he gathered his bearings before he blinked and nodded. She watched him rise and walk almost groggily towards his bedroom. "Steve?" He paused and glanced back at her. "Do you need anything?" Finally, he seemed himself again as he smiled towards her gratefully.

"I'm okay," he promised. "Thanks."

As she nodded and turned back towards Sam, he gave her a look of understanding. Telling Steve her newest revelation wasn't going to be easy.

* * *

It was a Tuesday again, and Bellamy left the tower on her own for the first time in a long time, on a hopeful mission. It was early morning and Susanna's Café would be opening soon. Truthfully, she couldn't get the McGraths out of her mind, or the uncomfortable suspicion that something wasn't right.

On her way, walking peacefully and alone with her thoughts, she couldn't help but think of her walks to the same place with Bucky. They had been silent too, but it was more distinct in nature. Still peaceful, still comfortable, but full of something incomprehensible. That "something," that feeling was sorely missed, and something she hadn't felt since he left. Maybe that's what love felt like. Maybe it had different shades, like the color red did.

Inside the barely open coffee shop, she couldn't bring herself to order a coffee again. Instead, she went with tea and went to sit at a table in the corner to wait. Mainly, she kept a subtle eye on the people coexisting in the café with her, but only inside. It scared her to look outside the windows again, fearing she would see another mirage.

The McGraths didn't show at their normal time. It had been a couple of hours, and just as Bellamy was deciding to perhaps just leave, she noticed John walking in the door. Her heart sank when she realized he was alone.

His gaze swept around the room, and when they met eyes, his face turned to something of a small bittersweet half-smile. Slowly, he headed towards her and removed his hat. Bellamy stood quickly.

"Bellamy," he greeted her, and took her outstretched hand. She waited silently, and he sighed before he looked her in the eyes. "My angel's gone."

Bellamy could feel her eyes starting to water. She swallowed hard and squeezed his hand, to which he took his free hand and rubbed her back, as if he were trying to comfort her. He pulled out a chair beside hers and they sat together.

"We've known for some time." He began, his voice soothing. "She took the diagnosis like a champ, better than I did, as she did with most things in life. The funny thing is, I always feared it would be me leaving her alone, especially back in my war days. The thought would keep me up at night. I told her that, and she took my hand with that grin of hers and told me, 'Well, I bet you weren't expecting me to beat you to it. You're going to make me wait for you again, aren't you, darling?'" Bellamy cleared her throat, looking at John's hand still in hers.

"I'm so sorry to hear. I'll miss her."

"She was never afraid of anything. We laid her to rest back home, in North Carolina. I assure you she felt the same about you, my dear." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. "She wanted me to give you this, but she wanted you to open it on your birthday in a couple of weeks." It had her name on the front written in pretty cursive. Bellamy tried to turn her frown into a smile. "I'm glad I caught you today, we haven't been in for some time."

"Neither have I." Bellamy admitted. "I've been doing some readjusting in my life. I was here last week, but I heard you weren't. I knew I needed to be here today." He smiled at her and patted her hand.

"Somehow, I knew it too, that you would be here. It's nice to see your face again. How is Bennie?" Bellamy swallowed.

"He's great. He's doing some traveling. Soul-searching." He nodded slowly, and smiled.

"Well, when you get the chance, tell him thank you for the lovely flowers. We got them this morning. Brilliant white irises. She would've loved them." Bellamy blinked blankly at John before she smiled and nodded absently.

It couldn't have been Bucky, he was far away God knows where. The McGraths knew many people, it was likely he knew more than one Bennie. Perhaps he was only guessing they were from Bucky, unlike her who wished every unexplainable occurrence was his doing.

After sitting for some time with John, she left with a promise to come back next week at their usual time. Once she left, she felt that she couldn't go back to the tower just yet and found her feet carrying her back to her apartment.

At her mailbox, she pulled out a stack of junk mail and tried to calmly sort through each piece without expecting to find another unaddressed envelope. Her heart jolted when she did, at the bottom. Quickly, the rest of the mail was shoved back into the box and she ripped open the envelope impatiently.

 _To you who warmed my soul,_

 _I still can't sleep. Sometimes I'll sit and watch the sunrise. I think of you the most during these times, because I'd do the same thing at your apartment with you in the next room. It was like clockwork every day. The sun would rise and you would come with it and my day got brighter in every way. You had a lot to do with awakening this new part of me, and I wanted you to know. I don't even know if you're getting these, but I hope you are._

 _I still write memories I remember down, and I have more than one notebook now. I think about the time you hugged me at the Arlington Cemetery a lot. You were crying over your father's grave, and then you saw me. You knew I'm the reason he's gone, but you still came to me, you still wanted me to hug you._

 _You always felt so fragile, like a little doll. Maybe it's because you were in my arms and I know what I'm capable of doing. And then I remember what I was always supposed to do, destined to do. But in that moment, every moment I ever held you in my arms, I could never imagine hurting you in any way. My mind couldn't wrap around the idea. And I realized I never wanted to see you hurt. So sometimes, I'm glad I left when I did, but most of the time I just think about you, in my arms._

 _I've made a lot of progress lately. I don't want you to worry, but I'm preparing to take down a large base soon. I've done my research, I know exactly what I'm getting into. I don't want you to worry about me, ever. Sometimes I don't want to send these, it took me forever to send the first one, because there's a part of me that wants you to just move on from me. But just leaving doesn't feel right, and I miss you. I don't know anymore, it's like I'm tugged in multiple directions every day. But if for some reason one day these letters stop coming, you have to move on. Don't you dare cry over me, or waste your life waiting for me. I want you to be happy and do what makes you happy. Find more ways to help people, you're great at that._

 _I don't know if you understand why I'm out here doing this, maybe you don't, but I have a feeling you do. You always understood me when I didn't even understand myself. I know I'm doing the right thing. And being away, it's not ideal, but…it's allowing me to make my own choices. Rediscover more parts of myself. More importantly, it lets me stop HYDRA and do good. Be good. Finally, I feel like I'm setting things right. But I still feel something missing. Like I said before, it's probably you…it always is._

 _Yours forever_

It was as if so many things were hitting her at once. She didn't quite know what to do, or how to process anything, and she almost felt weightless as she drifted back absent-mindedly to the tower, the weight of the two letters in her back pockets the only thing keeping her on the ground.

"Bellamy?" It was Steve calling her from the other room. He came around the corner, holding a vase with white carnations. She blinked at the sight. "These came in for you today."

Steve stood by as she opened the card attached to the flowers. It was the same handwriting her eyes had just read.

 _I'm so sorry for your loss._ - **Bennie Taylor**

Bellamy kept rereading it repeatedly, unable to quite believe the writing in front of her. She frowned harder as she swept her thumb over the writing, smearing the ink and wondering if maybe she were going crazy.

How did he know? Was he near after-all? Her mind continued to race until Steve's voice cut into her thoughts, a small smile on his lips that reminded her she was even more alone in her own world, and ever around her seemed to live in a different one.

"Secret admirer?" He guessed, lightly teasing. She read the note one last time before she looked up.

"No. Condolences. A friend of mine passed recently." Steve's face immediately fell.

"Oh, Bellamy…I'm so sorry." His large hand grasped her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Is there anything I can do?" She took a breath, almost immediately resorting to telling him no, her first instinct. That everything was fine. Instead, she could only blink at him.

"I'm...I think I'm numb to it all right now. I think I want to be alone, but I don't think I should be." He nodded slowly, respectfully.

"I've got an idea. Meet me on the roof, alright? I'll be there soon."

There wasn't much on the roof other than a view of the city. She stared out at it, unable to focus on one thing in her mind. Steve came not too long after her. In his hand, he carried a small sketchbook. She tilted her head.

He joined her side silently, looking out below too. The wind ruffled their shirts and hair and added a soft whirring sound to their atmosphere.

"When I need a minute, I come up here." He spoke after a minute. "Sometimes I'll find Clint or Natasha. But usually, I'm alone. And I'll sketch. If I'm focusing on details in front of me, it takes my mind's attention off whatever is bothering me."

"I can't draw." She told him, and he smiled.

"Everyone starts somewhere."

"Is it something you picked up recently?" He shook his head.

"It started when I younger. I even went to art school." She looked curiously to the sketchbook still in his hand, and he raised it up to her. "You can look if you'd like." She almost considered against it, not wanting to be invasive, but her curiosity got the best of her and she began to flip through the pages.

There were many pieces of New York scenery, buildings, parks, historical landmarks. There were even some of random citizens, friends on benches, a couple at a nearby café table. Doodles drawn as an escape from the world. A portrait of Natasha that made her gasp softly at it's incredible detail, and even one of Bruce.

"They're the only ones able to sit patiently." He explained. She looked from the pages back up to him, unable to speak.

"…Steve, this is incredible. How come you never told me?"

"It isn't really something I tell people, it's just something I do." He said with a humble shrug. She smiled lightly.

"If you really expect me to try and do _this_ …"

"No, I didn't bring you up here for art lessons. Unless, of course, you wanted to learn then I could. You said you wanted to be alone, but not entirely, and I just thought maybe…you wouldn't mind me sketching you?" Suddenly she understood. "We don't even have to talk. It'll be like I'm not even here. Or we can talk if you want. It's up to you." She smiled, before she nodded.

"Oh, why not..." She handed him the sketchbook back and they sat together on the ground, the wind still blowing. Her gaze fixed again out towards the city, but she couldn't keep herself from glancing at Steve a little way away from her and try not to smile at the sight of him sitting cross-legged, concentrating. "Steve?"

"Hm?"

"You could be an artist." He chuckled softly. "I'm serious."

"Sure, maybe. Maybe I could. But keeping the world safe takes precedent." His words made her ache for a purpose of her own.

"Why not both?"

"I don't know…I guess this is just something I keep to myself."

"That seems a little wrong, not letting the rest of the world in on something so great." She murmured, almost frowning down at her hands in her lap. "…I'd love to have such a talent."

"You have your own talents. Helping others, for example. You don't realize your impact. Sam told me just the other day having you around is like having a sister he never had. Nat finally reads more like she always said she wanted since you recommended all those books to her. No one listens to Bruce talk about climate change as sincerely as you." Bellamy listened to him speak, glad she didn't have to look him in the eye at the moment. "You've become one of my closest friends, Belle. I can't ever repay you for being here, helping me with something like this." Guilt pressed down on her shoulders.

"You know, my father called me Belle too. And Bella, and Belly, and Bellamore…" Her attempt at changing the subject was weak, but she was hoping it would work.

"I didn't know, I can stop if you want. I just thought Bellamy was a mouthful—it's a pretty name, of course, but…" When she looked at Steve he had paused his work and was watching her cautiously, as though he thought he had offended her.

"It's fine, don't worry." She expected a smile, but he frowned even more.

"Can I ask you something?" Her stomach flipped a bit nervously, and she hesitated at first but nodded. "Ever since you agreed to stay here and help, I can't stop wondering…after everything Bucky did, how did you forgive him?" Steve was the only person who had heard the story of her brother's death from her lips rather than a file. But she had never told him the rest, she didn't even know the rest, until now.

"I never knew how my father died." She began. Steve was frowning. "It was always kept from me. Hush-hush as though I were a child, nudged away from the topic. Before he died, Alexander Pierce told me the truth, that it was the Winter Soldier. My mother pieced in the rest." She ignored Bucky entirely, though she still remembered vividly the day he told her the truth. "The Winter Soldier was never after my family, he was after me. My family died because of me. When I found out, I saw red. I wanted him dead. But my mother, she knew the truth the entire time. She carried the weight for so long, and she'd had time to grieve. It was her who told me I needed to forgive. It does nothing to hate. Besides that, it wasn't him who deserved it."

She turned to Steve, taking in the look of surprise in his eyes. It made her realize how steady and calm her words were in contrast, how she had come to accept everything. He sat there for a moment more, taking her words in, before he spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Bellamy." His apology was sincere. "You must get that from her. Your strength." She chuckled, turning to glance at him.

"No. It came with pretending. And time. I don't really feel strong at all."

"Well, I think you are. And I'm Captain America." He grinned crookedly, and she rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Oh, yeah, Sam was telling me you wanted to talk about something?" Guilt pressed down on her again, even more severely than before.

"Nothing, just wondering what our next plan of action is." She replied coolly.

"That isn't really it, is it?" As they had grown closer, Steve was no longer fooled by her words. She sighed, inspecting cars on the road below. "You can tell me, Bellamy. You think I'm wasting my time, don't you."

"It doesn't matter what I think." She decided on the spot, looking at Steve. "I don't know how you see the situation, I'm not in your shoes. But if you want to keep looking, I'll do my best to help." They were at a disagreement, but it was gone and dissolved as Steve gave her a half-smile and a nod.

The wind picked up again, keeping them company as they sat in close company. It seemed such an odd year she was having—never would she have believed only a year ago that she would be so close to Steve, to the other Avengers. To be helplessly in love. But mostly, to feel so lost. For the first time, however, sitting there with Steve, it didn't feel so aimless. Maybe her purpose was still missing, but every other piece in her life were offering her the best stability they could. Maybe it was fine, it would be fine after-all.

"What do you say we pick up dinner duty tonight?" Steve suggested when the sun sank behind the buildings. It was getting cool outside.

"Here I was hoping Bruce would be making that Cajun pasta again." She heard him chuckle behind her.

"We could always ask, and offer a hand. I wouldn't mind learning the recipe." He had stood and walked over to her, offering his hand to help her up.

"Worth a shot." As they walked back towards the stairwell, Steve placed his arm over her shoulders, and gave her a squeeze.

"It'll get better. Don't worry about things, okay?"

* * *

She thought a lot about his words later that night as she walked into the living room, plopping down on the couch next to Sam. He only took one look at her before gave her something of a knowing look.

"How could I even consider telling him that." She muttered lowly, still feeling her guilt lingering.

"For what it's worth, I think you're right." He told her. "But he's never going to stop looking." He didn't have to finish—both of them knew it, neither of them could stop as long as he kept going. Steve wasn't going to change his mind, and she could only offer the most support she could. Bellamy almost at times felt as though she didn't deserve a person like Steve in her life, it still surprised her when she really thought about it.

"Back at it tomorrow?" She with a breath of preparation.

"You know it." Sam confirmed.


	25. Spoken Unknowns

Bellamy was on her bed reading, pretending she couldn't feel heavy pulsing bass in her chest. Beyond that, she was ignoring the sound of numerous chatty voices drifting towards her door, indicating a large mass of people in the main area of the tower. She took a sip of chamomile tea and pursed her lips as a loud muted cheer grated her ears.

She almost didn't hear the rhythmic knock on her door that revealed Steve, poking his head in with an almost sheepish apologetic smile.

"Still doing okay?" He asked as he walked inside, closing the door behind him and muting the party down below again.

"Mmhm," she replied as she continued reading; this was his second time checking in on her. Steve hesitated beside her bed.

"…I know there's a lot of people down there—"

"Yes, that's what happens when you let Tony Stark take over planning a simple party." She cut him off curtly.

"Just come down." Steve pleaded. "It isn't my ideal setting either, but it _is_ Sam's birthday."

Steve had mentioned to her a few days prior he was thinking of throwing a birthday party for their friend. Of course, a small get together had turned into a full blown swanky party at the tower with far too many people she would be putting a friendly face on for.

"I don't party, Steve."

"C'mon, Belle. Maybe it'll do you some good." He suggested. She merely turned to scowl and he sighed. "If you change your mind, come find us." He walked to the door, and paused. "I know Sam would appreciate seeing you." She snorted after he left, hating the guilt he had pushed on her, however, she never gave any promise on making an appearance.

Her eyes couldn't read the words on the pages anymore, and she put the book to the side in irritation, rubbing the temples on her head. She knew Steve was right, but the tumultuous recent events in her life still seemed to be weighing her down, no matter how hard she tried not to let them. Maybe she was feeling the events more now. But one had to move forward, and maybe pretending for the night would push her in the right direction.

Almost begrudgingly, she changed from her sweatpants to a casual sweater dress and put her hair up. That was enough effort, she decided, and walked to her door, trying to will her stamina up. _Don't isolate yourself_. She told herself in her head as she opened the door to a seemingly other world.

It was like stepping from the shade to direct sunlight on a scorching day; everything was amplified. Bellamy squinted as she descended the steps to the main floor, immediately trying to search for a walking path through the throng of people. There wasn't one in sight.

These guests were primarily Tony's, she could tell by their clothes. Every face was unrecognizable to her, but perhaps a faceless crowd was for the better. She had to push her way through, but she did so without getting noticed. Mainly, she tried not to get stepped on. A woman laughed and threw her head back, along with her elbow, which jabbed Bellamy in the ribs.

"I need a drink." She muttered to herself under her breath, rubbing her side and making her way towards the bar. Compared to the crowd, she was too stiff, and too full of thoughts. She leaned on the counter, noting the professional bartender Tony had hired, and ordered a gin and tonic.

"Wow. You know, gun to my head, I would've had to guess you've never had a drink in your life." In took her a second to realize someone was at her shoulder and speaking to her. She turned and noticed Tony, raising his eyebrows at her. "This isn't your first drink ever, right?" She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to her awaiting drink.

"Great party." She told him before taking a drink. He tilted his head with narrowed eyes.

"Is that sarcasm?" She smiled pointedly. Before she could say anything else, it felt as though someone threw a sandbag over her shoulders. It was only Thor, with one arm over her shoulders and the other over Tony's, pulling them closer to him.

"There's the hermit! What a pleasant surprise to see your face!" He boomed next to her ear, and shook her shoulders, making her drink spill. She downed the rest of it before it suffered the same fate, before signaling for another from the bartender.

"Where's Steve and Sam?" Bellamy asked Tony.

"Is our company not good enough?"

"I haven't told him happy birthday yet." Without hesitating she downed half of the new glass, wincing. Tony grabbed it, sliding it closer to him.

"Okay, hold up, are you a closet alcoholic?" She tugged the glass back with a scoff, but when she looked back at him, she wasn't expecting the way his eyes grew sincere, or him leaning closer to her. "I saw the flowers. I'm sure you've got a lot going on. It'll get better." She looked at him quickly, not entirely believing she was still talking to Tony for a minute. "But I'm guessing you're a lightweight, so maybe you should—" She ignored him, drinking the rest of the glass with a grimace, before she turned to Thor at her other shoulder.

"Do you want to dance?" He let out an exhilarated laugh.

"Indeed, I would be thrilled! Teach me the Midgardian way!" She couldn't change her mind now as he towed her towards the other dancing people. Really, she just wanted to get away from the emotional talk, no matter how much Tony meant well.

Thor was mainly just swinging her around the floor, and years of dance class at least allowed her to fit in enough among everyone else. The drinks had helped her loosen up, and she was escaping from her mind for a moment, focusing on the moving parts of her body. As she spun away from Thor, she heard his booming laugh above the music, until it faded to background noise as she came face to face with Bucky.

She gasped, freezing in her tracks. Every noise around her silenced completely, until she realized this man wasn't Bucky. It was her mind once again, playing tricks on her as it did the other week at the coffee shop. She didn't snap out of it until someone bumped into her, and suddenly she was back. Her breathing was shallow, and she started pushing through the people as she became more aware, running away from the party to the muted kitchen.

* * *

"Bellamy?" She jumped at the sound of a familiar voice and turned to see Steve, approaching her cautiously with a bewildered frown. She realized it was likely caused by the wine bottle against her lips.

"Hey, Steve." She raised a hand in greeting from where she was leaning against the kitchen counter.

"I see you decided to come down after-all…" he eyed the bottle in her hand. "I didn't know you drank."

"For some reason, I've heard that twice tonight." She chuckled. Steve didn't.

"I've been looking everywhere for you. Tony came and told me you were dancing. I actually didn't believe him." His eyes were growing more concerned. "What are you doing, Bellamy?" What was she doing? To not think about it, she shrugged half-heartedly and raised the wine bottle again. "Okay, enough." Steve reached out and tried to take the bottle.

"Hey, stop!" She protested, now realizing the situation felt like that of a parent and toddler, and she was the toddler. For some reason, he was treating her like a child. No, it wasn't for some reason—she knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn't explain it to Steve correctly.

"Bellamy," he tried to tell her sternly, trying again to take the bottle, but he wasn't really using all his strength, and she yanked it away from him and closer to her.

"I've done it before!" He stopped trying to wrestle her and now looked as though he didn't recognize her. _I sound like an alcoholic_ , she realized to herself and huffed, her head shaking back and forth. "I just…no, I'm not—I mean…" Still, she couldn't find the words to explain. Steve was staring at her with a look of pity, before he sighed.

"Sam found something new." He told her. "I was hoping you could help out, but you're in no condition."

It was almost like she sobered up at his words. Her head snapped up to look at him.

"About Bucky?" Steve was already turning to leave.

"…Maybe you should get back to your room." His answer wasn't helpful.

"Wait, Steve, what are you—" in her haste, she rushed forward to try and catch up to him but knocked over the bottle and cursed under her breath as the red liquid shattered to the ground. As if she didn't look like a toddler enough already. Steve stared at her worriedly. "I'm sorry, Steve—"

"I'll be here in the morning if you want to talk. I have to go." Bellamy watched him leave bitterly. She had heard him use those words before, on Tony after he had too much to drink one night. Now she was the one he was avoiding until she was coherent enough.

She stared at the puddle on the ground, wondering where she had seen it before, until she remembered the rooftop, the spilled wine that was still there too.

What news had Steve heard, what evidence did Sam find that she had missed? A new lead in Europe? Some far-fetched sighting that turned out to be false yet again? Or, was it even closer, was he back around New York? And if he was…why?

Her mind began to flood with possibilities, but before it could get too far head, she ran away from the kitchen, trying to find Steve. She nearly exposed herself as she turned the corner only to find Steve and Sam together at the end of the long hallway. Quietly, she stayed hidden behind the wall, trying to listen to their conversation.

"…and you're positive?" Steve was asking.

"Every sign points to yes. And if those are all true, that means he's close by at this very moment."

"Alright, well, let's try our luck." Their footsteps took them away, and she held her breath for a moment, letting the information sink in. He was here. He was close by.

He was actually here.

* * *

Her hands were sweating and almost shaking as she snuck out of the tower, wrapped in a coat, walking determinedly in the right direction. If he was back in New York and wanted to see her, he would go to the safest place, but that was only if he wanted to see her. There were no guarantees, but she continued walking briskly anyways.

Her apartment was dark when she walked in, but again, it was like she could breathe comfortably. As she flipped on lamps, she stopped and looked around, realizing how much of herself was here, and how despite changing, it still represented her. And she missed it.

Bellamy didn't quite know what she was expecting, she realized after every light was on and she was standing blankly in her living room. Was she expecting Bucky to already be in there magically? This whole notion suddenly felt foolish.

But it didn't feel foolish enough to make her leave and go back to the tower either. Maybe she was just being naïve and still hoping he would show, but she was staying here tonight, whether he showed up or not. Maybe after a few incidents tonight she didn't feel right being at the tower anymore, maybe it was the way Steve had looked at her, but she just wanted to be here for the time being.

With slow steps, she walked towards her bedroom, listening to the foreign sound of her shoes on the wood floor. Everything was just as she had left it, neatly in its place. She walked closer to her bookshelf and examined her books again, mindlessly reading titles. When she looked away and found her reflection in the mirror, she only stared calmly. Her reflection jumped at the faint sound of tapping. Tapping on glass.

The pounding of her heart reminded her of the bass from earlier in the night. Somehow that seemed like years ago. She paused in the shelter of the hallway away from the living room, where the sound of tapping came again. Steady, noticeable, but not demanding. The sound was barely even there, as though it weren't entirely committed to its actions.

Bellamy stepped into the living room and slowly raised her head to look towards the glass door leading to the balcony, where she could see a darker shadowy figure against the background of the black night. She felt as if she were floating across the floor to the door, waiting for the moment that the shadow would grow clearer and recognizable. It felt as though she were living too lucidly in a dream.

Her body was inches from the glass, and in the light of her apartment she could see her reflection first in the glass, her bewildered face framed with her messy hair, her body not quite relaxed. And then, she could see past herself, a shadowed face she always thought she saw, and even when she did see in her dreams, it would never compare to the cohesiveness of its nature as it was directly in front of her. She almost didn't believe her sight—it had tricked her before—until she could see his metal hand, glinting from both her light and the moonlight.

Dazed, her fingers moved to unlock the door and slide it open, and that was when the details were clearer. It was him, and he was there right in front of her, as frozen as she. Her eyes swept up from his worn boots up to his dark jeans, past his layered dark shirts and the backpack strapped to him, all the way up to his face. He appeared apprehensive, waiting patiently for her to move first. Her vision was blurring as she stared into his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he told her, his voice hoarse and soft, but that was all she let him say before she threw her arms around his frame. She wasn't expecting the sigh of relief that came from his lips, or how quickly he wrapped his arms around her in return, how tight he held her to him, the way he buried his head in the crook of her neck.

They stayed like that, halfway inside and halfway out, long enough for her to feel a stray tear fall from her eyes down her nose. To feel his heartbeat pounding against her body, racing like hers, and compare their breathing tempos.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again against her skin, and she shook her head, pulling back.

"Stop, I know." She reassured him, making him look at her. "I understand." He breathed another sigh of relief, and she pulled him inside completely, almost afraid he would slip away if she didn't. He didn't argue and instead stared down at her, seemingly taking in her features, perhaps comparing them to memories as she was doing. Without knowing what else to do, she pressed her cheek to his chest again, reaching her arms as tightly as she could around him.

Before, with their hugs, Bucky had always been hesitant, as he had told her in the last letter, but now, he didn't hesitate. One hand held her waist to him, while the other stroked the top of her head. She smiled against the fabric of his shirt.

"Your hair is different." He murmured, and she pulled back. "It's parted to the left. It was always parted down the middle." It was such an obscure thing to notice, and she chuckled for some reason, but could feel her eyes watering.

"Yeah, and I wear jeans now too. Lots of denim. You even missed a sundress. Oh, and…" She raised her hands to his, showing the turquoise nail polish on her nails. He chuckled, a bright smile making his eyes crinkle as he took her hands in his and held them. The sensation of his metal hand in hers was such a missed feeling; it reminded her she was holding his hands. "What are you doing here?" The lighthearted look faded a bit from his eyes as he looked instead to their hands intertwined.

"Well, isn't something important coming up soon?" Her lips twitched. "Isn't someone...turning 30 soon?" She chuckled, ducking her head and he squeezed her hands. The sensation of it was surreal—it was like getting pinched. It made her realize it wasn't a dream.

"You remembered." She murmured, looking back up at him, and he nodded. Her birthday was in a week. She smiled, but shook her head. "That's not really why you're here." His own smiled faltered and he sighed. She frowned now. "Talk to me, please. What happened?"

He hesitated, looking at her, and she pulled on his hand, leading him towards the love seat. There, she crossed her legs underneath her, facing him and never letting go of his hand.

"It's almost like…you opened a door. Because I left you, and all of a sudden I felt like I experienced more emotions than I ever have in my entire life. And I started remembering more, and with each memory came more feelings."

"What did you feel?" She asked him gently. He inspected his shoes.

"I felt everything." He whispered, shaking his head slowly side to side. "God, I felt it all. Everything I've done, every face I've hurt..." He trailed off, and it reminded her of before, when she had always tried her best to help him battle a war she would never be able to understand.

Suddenly, he chuckled to himself in a cynical way, as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say.

"I was in Europe. That's where I've been. About to take down the base I was telling you about. Long story short, I almost didn't make it out alive." Her heart jolted and she could feel her jaw clench, but his hand she made sure to still hold gently, stroking her thumb over the top. "And the old me…I wouldn't have been afraid to die. Maybe I would've even welcomed it. Felt like I deserved it. I would've just shut my eyes, gratefully. Waited for an end. But not this time. I was afraid."

"There's nothing wrong with being afraid." She told him lightly. He shook his head.

"I still wasn't afraid to die, I just didn't _want_ to this time. It isn't dying that I'm afraid of…it was the thought of you, running through my head. Of never seeing your face again, of you back here, not knowing…" His voice faltered and he looked at her calmly. The most sickening wave of butterflies hit her stomach. "All I could think about was making it back here."

"I've been dying to write you back." She told him quietly, and he nodded slowly, as though he felt the same.

"I think about writing a return address every time. But I can't risk it. I'm just glad you got them."

"How did you find out about Flora?" She asked curiously, staring at him.

"Obituary." He replied. "That, also. It made me think of you too. What I would do if I were in John's shoes. Or maybe the opposite, you in his and me gone."

"…Without knowing." She added on, her words barely coming out. He stared at her, before he finally nodded. She thought carefully about his words, wanting to be more open, but finding it hard to actually say anything painfully honest. "They always say it's easier to be honest when you've been drinking."

"I knew I could smell it…not to mention that." He gestured to a red stain on her dress. His eyebrows furrowed in concern. "You don't drink often."

It was almost a relief to be with someone who knew her so well. Oddly enough, Bucky was the person who knew her the best.

"Tony threw a party…it was Steve's friend's birthday. I've been worried, and then there's Flora, and I guess I just got carried away."

"You didn't let anyone know yours is coming up soon?" She made a face.

"I'm not one to be the center of attention. Anyways, it's better this way." He smiled knowingly, before he frowned and pulled her closer to him so that she was resting against his chest. His hand rubbed her back soothingly.

"I told you not to worry about me." He scolded her gently. She didn't try to tell him it simply wasn't that easy. She didn't question his touch, which came so scarcely before and easily now. Instead, she rested against him, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. "I hated not being here for you. For leaving…But I knew I had to just go. If I waited for you and tried to explain, I know I never would've been able to leave."

"I know." She told him, before she hesitated. "Steve knows you're in New York, you know that right? He's out there right now, looking for you."

"I know he is."

"He doesn't know I'm here." She reassured him, and looked up to watch him nod. "Bucky, he's really worried about you. He just wants to help."

"I know he does," he mumbled almost dismissively.

"Maybe you should see him. Just, at least explain it to him. He'll understand it, I know he will, I can help him understand—"

"Bellamy, you might understand, but I know Steve. He wouldn't let me leave. Steve…he always finds some kinda way around things. Always comes up with some crazy rosy plan."

"Why are you so sure it wouldn't work?" She argued softly, pulling back to look at him. "He would help you. I can help you." He stared down at her.

"Bellamy, this is my choice. This is the first choice I've ever been able to make. Maybe it's wrong. But it's _mine_." She stared back at his pleading eyes. Her stomach was prickling as she remembered Steve, everything he had done for her so far and how she was here. And he didn't know. Finally, she sighed heavily, nodding slowly in understanding. "Thank you." He whispered gratefully.

She did only promise Steve she would try her best; if he knew her situation, he couldn't fault her with this.

"Have you been okay?" He asked her suddenly, and she thought for a moment.

"It felt…uncomfortable, after you left. Before you stayed here, I preferred being alone. But then you left, and it just didn't feel right. I don't know. Steve has really helped me out. You're right, he's really great." She frowned a little, unable to shake the feeling that she was betraying him.

"And have you found something that makes you happy?" His voice was hopeful. She averted her gaze down at her fingers, beginning to frown.

"No," she hated to admit. Really, she hated to even think about how lost she still felt sometimes. "But, I think I can finally close the chapter to the past." He raised an eyebrow and she stood and offered her hand. "I need to show you something."

She led him to her bedroom, back to her closet where she dug out the files she had been given from Coulson. Bucky was frowning deeply as he flipped them all open, and read the handwritten note left behind.

"Who gave you this?"

"My files were given to me by the new director of S.H.I.E.L.D. The files on S.H.I.E.L.D. itself were left anonymously. I still know who left them."

"Did you look through them?" He asked her quietly as he looked through it himself, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Not mine. Or my father's." She replied quietly, watching him read her file. "But, when I met with Phil, I wasn't in the best mindset. I was jealous of him, that Fury picked him over me to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D. It was all but blatant confirmation that I was a failed project." Bucky looked up sharply, but didn't interrupt. "I'm fine without S.H.I.E.L.D. now. I'm done. But he reminded me when I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. that I took an oath to protect the peace, to shield the world from those dangers. It's the only thing that keeps bothering me."

Finally being able to talk through her thoughts freely was such a release, like a gulp of air after being underwater for too long, like being back on land after swimming. Bucky closed the files and put them aside on the nightstand as she sat beside him.

"Without S.H.I.E.L.D. you don't know how to do that anymore." He concluded and she nodded. "Bellamy, I know you'll find a way. You were just meant to do good in the world, to be the good in the world. You're the reason I'm trying to do the same."

She looked over at him and smiled gently, wishing to always remember the way he returned her smile with a sweet one of his own.

"I'm surprised you hadn't passed out before I got here. Or aren't right now." He teased her lightly and she laughed. "Tired?"

"I don't think I can sleep tonight." She admitted.

"You can get in bed if you want. It's late."

"…Will you stay?" He hesitated, and she could have sworn there was a tint to his cheek, though he nodded, albeit while avoiding her eyes. She flicked the lamplight off and climbed onto her bed where he rested back beside her, allowing her to sidle up beside him and rest her head on his chest.

There was only moonlight creeping in through the window, and a comfortable silence. She smiled contently, unable to count the times she had wished this had happened.

"Have you seen a lot of beauty in the world, being away?" She whispered.

"Some. I've seen a lot of bad too. It evens out."

"But you have seen good? It has helped you, being away?"

"Yeah. It really has." It was a relief to hear. Who was she to not want that for him? There was a part of her that wished she could tell this all to Steve, but she knew she couldn't. It wasn't technically her place to tell.

"I'm really glad, Bucky. You deserve that." She whispered. His hand rubbed her back.

"...I still miss you." That was also a relief to hear.

"Me too. I miss you a lot." She let herself listen to his steady heart for a moment, letting it calm her, but it wasn't enough to calm her completely. She couldn't be lulled to sleep at the steadiness, for she knew soon enough it would just be gone again and she would be trying to replicate the rhythm in her head in vain.

She knew better than to ask, knew he couldn't entirely explain his reasoning and didn't particularly like it either, but she couldn't stop herself.

"You're going to leave again, aren't you." She whispered into the dark. The pace of his heartbeat quickened.

"I have to." He replied, barely audible. She frowned at her wall.

It must have been a long time that they stayed like that. She was growing lost in her thoughts, glaring behind closed eyelids, when she heard him chuckle softly and felt him gently kiss the top of her head.

"Without fail, you haven't missed a beat." He whispered in light amusement. But she had never drifted to sleep, she was still completely conscious, listening. She heard him sigh delicately, felt him tracing absently on her shoulder. "You've helped me more than you'll ever know, angel."

She could feel her heart fluttering at his words, could feel tingles rising on the back of her neck and traveling down her spine as he whispered softly to her, gently letting the flow of words slip from his lips like a sigh.

"One day, soon. It can't come soon enough. It's that thought that keeps me going, the idea of having a life with you, if I could ever be so lucky." Gently, he began to run his fingers through her hair, and caress the skin on the nape of her neck, her jaw, her cheek, her temple. He let out a peaceful breath.

It sent chills down her spine again.

It took everything to keep her mouth and eyes shut and keep up the facade, as she was unsure if he really wanted her to hear any of that. She only tightened her grip on him, wishing to never have to let him go at all.

More time passed and she felt him growing restless. When she peeked out, her room was growing lighter. The sun wasn't rising just yet, but the sky was turning from black to navy. Very gingerly he began to try and slip away, to which she sat upright immediately.

"It's okay, it's alright." He tried to soothe her, thinking she had been asleep the entire time. She looked out the window and the slowly brightening sky with dread before looking at Bucky with reproach.

"You weren't just going to try to leave again without a goodbye, were you?" She asked. His gaze dropped.

"It's just...easier that way. I can't tell you goodbye." She was sitting upright on her knees, and he was sitting upright in front of her. They stared at each other, seemingly reflecting discomfort and furrowed brows.

"You're afraid I'm going to ask you to stay." She murmured. His face softened.

"If you asked me to, you know I would." It was tempting, it was too tempting. She wondered if there was a right choice, both options seemed bleak. She swallowed, feeling her stomach dropping.

"Let me come with you." He looked at her sharply, before he immediately began shaking his head back and forth. "I can help you take them out, you don't have to do it alone."

"No, Bellamy. This isn't your problem. You have to move away from this, alright? You take on the world and leave me to deal with the trash." She finally sighed deeply.

"…Okay. Just take care of yourself, Buck."

His reaction made her sacrifice more than worth it, the way his lips spread into a weak smile of relief, the way his eyes looked just a bit shinier. Weakly, she watched him stand and walk to stand in front of her, reaching his arms out to her. Without hesitating, she reached upwards and wrapped hers around his neck, and he lifted her from the bed to stand on the ground in front of her, hugging her tightly to his frame.

"I'll come back to you." He whispered next to her ear. It sunk in then, how absolutely awful her situation was. Being in love and sleeping alone every night.

"I'm with you every step of the way." She told him, putting on a brave face as they pulled away. "Just…please. Be careful." He nodded before he reached into his back pocket.

"I almost forgot," he murmured, before he pulled out a piece of paper. "Don't open it until I leave, alright? It's not much but...Happy birthday." He smiled, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. Without even thinking, she reached out and gently grasped his cheek, stopping his face nearly inches from hers.

He stared back at her as her thumb stroked his cheek. He was there, right in front of her, and it was the moment she had dreamed of often, if she could only have another chance at seeing him again. All the things she thought she would say ran through her head, from ultimatum, to angry words, to calm and comforting ones...or maybe just one little promise. One raw truth that only she knew. And what was the point in holding it in? What if she really never did see him again?

"I can't let you go until you know…until you hear me say it." She murmured, her voice wavering, but she locked her eyes with his. "I love you, Bucky." His eyes fluttered a bit, and he let out a gentle chuckle. She smiled at the sound, at the gentle relief of it. She waited for his reply, her mind worrying what he was going to say, but no words came from his lips.

Instead, his lips came closer. They didn't stop like the day on the Wonder Wheel, he moved in closer and it felt as though he couldn't have possibly kissed her in a more tender way. One hand rested on her hip, and the other, his metal hand, gently cradled her face. Their lips molded together, reciprocating the welcome exchange, and she couldn't keep her lips from spreading into a smile. Indeed, silence was stronger than words, as were actions, and she needed no other affirmations from him.

They came anyways as he parted almost reluctantly from her, his lips still ghosting over hers as he whispered.

"I love you too."

Now she understood his chuckle of delight; it came from her chest involuntarily, her happiness manifesting its way out of her body from her soul. And then came the sinking realization as he began to let go of her. He seemed to have felt it too as he leaned down once again to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Go," she told him lightly, before she bit her lip. He nodded once, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from her and walk out of the room. He made no noise at all leaving, and when she finally walked into the living area, he was gone.

 **A/N: This update was long overdue, thank you for being patient. These last two chapters were a little messy, but hopefully still comprehensible. As always feedback is appreciated and welcomed, thank you!**


	26. It's Real

The tower was seemingly empty compared to the liveliness of the night before. Bellamy made her steps quiet and watched around her as she headed towards the kitchen; she had never cleaned up the mess she made.

She had already let her guard down as she rounded the corner, so the sight of Tony standing by the counter next to one of his robots made her stop in her tracks. He was looking at her expectantly.

"Good morning, culprit." He greeted her, sipping a cup of coffee. "I'm guessing this was your doing?" She blinked at him.

"You're up early," she stopped herself. "...you haven't gone to sleep yet, have you?"

"It's questionable whether or not you've had any either." She narrowed her eyes at him, the way he was looking her up and down. "Okay, did you really leave and have a one-night stand with someone because I've got a running bet going with Clint and he swears he saw you grinding with some guy with a handlebar mustache."

"What—no? No!" She snapped, crossing her arms. "And is it really necessary to have a robot clean this up when you could've done it yourself in two seconds?"

"Well, I don't know, couldn't you have done it yourself if that were the case? Instead you bolted. You never even told Sam happy birthday." Her heart dropped and she had to shut her mouth because no words were coming out. Tony seemed to stare right through her.

"Did he say that?" She asked quietly as she sat down at the bar.

"Heard him talking about you to Steve, they got back a few hours ago. Looking for Barnes, no luck. No surprise. Steve felt guilty, he thought you left because of him. Did you?" She blinked, looking away.

"Well, I think he had the wrong idea about me. Apparently, everyone else does too." She shot him a dirty look. "I didn't come here to be bet on."

"Why did you come here?" They stared at each other. "You wanted a purpose again, right? That's it? After everything came to light, you were left in the dark. And Steve made you feel like you were being helpful. But you're not. Because you don't think he's going to find his war buddy—and he's not, you and I both know that much. So now you're stuck. Right?"

Tony was intelligent, but sometimes Bellamy forgot just how clever he was. Until now, when he had somehow slapped her with the current truth of her life while halfway drunk. For a long moment, all she could do was stare at him.

"I had to leave. I went for a walk and stayed at mine." It wasn't entirely a lie but it didn't matter, it was no task to lie Tony.

"You're grieving." It was almost as if he were giving her a diagnosis. "I can see it. You have been for a long time." He walked closer towards her, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "Who did you lose. Mom?" Her head snapped up. "The flowers? The condolences. You just lost someone and you're trying not to process it. But you have to let yourself feel it. I didn't for a long time. I know what it's like, losing a parent." His gaze wasn't concentrated on her and it allowed her to inspect his face.

"It was a friend. She was more like a grandmother." She finally replied. Tony nodded.

"Here's the thing, I know you don't agree with me and the way I do things. You don't have to listen to what I say, but, I'm gonna say it anyways because I can. If you really want to change and let go of all that grief, you have to confront it. Let it go. Feel it, and let it go and move on." She stared up at him, shaking her head slowly with a knowing look.

"How come you haven't?" He stared back with the same expression.

"Everything is easier said than done." And that was the first, and perhaps only ever moment she ever had, connecting with Tony Stark. It disappeared as sudden as it came with his next words. "So, no hanky-panky, right?" She rolled her eyes and turned to leave.

" _No_."

"Hey, Jarvis? Wake up Clint and tell him he owes me a Benjamin." Bellamy glared.

"He bet $100 I left with a guy with a handlebar mustache?"

"And velvet suspenders. Don't worry I never doubted you." She scoffed and stood to go to her room, hearing Clint cursing from his room on her way.

She couldn't sleep when she got there, though. Despite the fatigue within her and her heavy eyelids, she stared upwards at the ceiling, her mind automatically flickering back to Bucky. Her hand moved to pull the letter he had written her for her birthday out to reread again, but a knock on her door stopped her motions.

"Come in," she called as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. Steve opened her door and stood staring at her from the door frame, without a word. Something about his silence and the silence of her room only made the sound of her swallowing amplify into a gulp.

"We need to talk." He finally said curtly. "Meet me on the roof in five." And he walked away abruptly. Bellamy stared at the wall in front of her with foreboding nerves.

On the roof, the air between them was thick with tension, even in the open air. Tension that was not even close to being thick, but it was almost a foreign sensation to her now—it had been so long, she realized. So long in fact that now, she was resisting the urge to squirm in front of Steve who stared straight at her, eyes pinning her in place.

"How come you left?"

"I believe I have that freedom to do as I please." She managed to reply dryly and wondered how the hell she made her career out of being stone-like and under an illusion of assuredness. It was like being forced into a button-up too tight around the neck now.

"You weren't entirely in the best condition." She stopped herself before she could roll her eyes completely. Steve didn't show if he noticed. Instead, his expression turned sympathetic for a moment as he finally looked to his lap. "When I realized you had left, I thought I had hurt your feelings and made you leave. I felt terrible. But Tony told me you were trying to sneak in—"

" _Sneak in?_ " She cut him off. "What am I, sixteen? Am I just a source of amusement, someone new for you all to bet on, someone to whisper about? Maybe that's why I left, Steve, I feel as though I've overstayed my welcome." She snapped.

Right away, she realized it wasn't perhaps the best thing to say. Steve's forehead furrowed deeply as he looked at her in concern, the wheels in his head turning as though he were trying to figure out the source of the conflict. His intensity softened, but only enough to turn into concern.

"Do you feel unappreciated here? Are we making you uncomfortable?" She sighed.

"No, Steve, that isn't…it's not that." He looked at her closely.

"Bellamy, just tell me how we can help you more." Her chuckle came out short, her eyes avoiding him, before she merely shrugged.

"You can't." He frowned at her.

"You won't let us." He corrected her. She chuckled again, unable to give a response. "Look, I don't think I'm overstepping by boundaries by saying I'm tired of the lies, Bellamy." Her stomach dropped and her eyes snapped to his. The longer Steve stared, the dryer her throat got. She didn't dare move her hands, despite the sudden clamminess they held. "Like how you really think I have snowball's chance at finding Bucky."

"…Sometimes you can't tell the truth." She began weakly, not even sure where to start. Her heart was pounding so hard she was almost sure he could hear it; it was all she could hear in her ears. Blood pounding. She waited for his anger, for his questions. Her head was unable to prepare any answers.

"Well, I'm asking for it now." His words were stark. She nodded once finally, and almost looked away when he turned his stern eyes to her. "So? Are you gonna tell me what's got you so upset, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?" She blinked at him, watching him stare down at the streets below.

"What? That's what this is about?" She asked, watching him turn towards her. "Are you really that concerned about me?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Do you really think I don't care about my friends?" Bellamy only stared. Of course he did, Bucky had spent so much time telling him of the things Steve did for him, how good of a friend he was. But it was strange thinking she had somehow stumbled her way into this circle known as Captain America's friend.

All the while she was betraying him. Her head felt jumbled.

"It's…really nothing." She mumbled, crossing her arms. Steve laughed.

"So we're going back to this?" She only looked at him, stubbornly silent. "I'm not going to force you to tell me anything, I would just hope you would because you trust me. And, I can see something is eating at you." She bit her lip.

"I can only tell you what I'm able." She admitted after a moment, unable to look him in the eye. He seemed to accept her words without a problem at all. If only he knew. "No. I don't think you'll find him. I know you won't. As for me, I'm…not really sure what the hell I'm doing anymore. Here. I feel like I keep losing. I'm not happy. I'm fine, but I'm not happy, I don't know what makes me happy and more importantly, I'm not useful, and I don't know how to be useful. And that's killing me, Steve."

Steve nodded slowly, still inspecting cars down below. "I've been there before. I know you've heard it before, and I know it feels like you're going in circles. But one day…you'll look back and see you started going down a path and it isn't a loop anymore. You're going somewhere."

"But I'm not Captain America."

"No. You're Bellamy Burke and you need to stop selling yourself so goddamn short." She looked up in surprise to see Steve give her a small smile. "Even Captain America has his days. You know, I used to go to my own exhibit at the Smithsonian, just trying to remind myself I had a purpose. Sometimes, all we need is a nudge. Whether it's from someone else or the universe itself." His eyes appeared distant now. "How's your schedule look the next few days?" Bellamy raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"There's someone I want to take you to meet."

* * *

Steve never bothered telling her that this friend was about four hours away, all the way back at Washington, D.C.

"She's a good friend. Now that I'm staying at the tower, well, it's hard to see her. I haven't been in some time." He stopped, staring up at the retirement home they had parked at. "Maybe that was for the better." Bellamy frowned at him, not understanding, but not saying anything as she followed in close behind him.

The lady at the front desk recognized him right away, and smiled cheerfully, asking if he was there to see "her." She allowed both of them to go on their own to a room Steve knew the exact way to. He knocked and paused, looking at Bellamy.

"Just bear with me, okay?" Still not entirely understanding, she merely nodded again, and followed him inside.

"Peggy? It's me, Steve." Steve was using an overtly cautious tone, smiling gently. Bellamy looked in amazement at the women in her bed as she looked up and to them, blinking before smiling back.

"Steve? Oh, Steve. I haven't seen you in so long." The relieved and bright smile on Steve's face appeared almost foreign. She'd never seen him so delighted.

"It's been some time, I'm sorry. I got a little busy." He crossed the room and took her outstretched hand, giving it a gentle kiss before turning back towards Bellamy and gesturing to her. "I brought a friend with me today, I hope you don't mind."

"A friend of yours is a friend of mine, Steve. What's your name, dear?" Peggy sat up a little, turning her warm eyes to Bellamy. She stepped forward, smoothing down her shirt a bit and raising her chin.

"Hello, ma'am. It's an honor, my name is Bellamy Burke." Peggy took her outstretched hand, before she stopped, blinking with something like recognition as she gazed at Bellamy.

"Did you say Burke?" When Bellamy nodded, her eyes widened. "My goodness, you're Scott's daughter. You're…" She smiled fondly now, placing her other hand over Bellamy's and clasping it in between hers. "You're Lizzie's granddaughter." Bellamy smiled down at the woman.

"Yes. She told me a lot about you. You were a great inspiration to me throughout my life." Peggy smiled again, turning her gaze to Steve, who appeared a little surprised as he looked between the two women.

"Steve, will you grab the picture frame on the far left?" He obliged, handing it to Peggy who showed the both of them. It was a little girl, no more than the age of 3, nestled in a younger Peggy's arms. She stood next to another woman, who Bellamy recognized quickly to be her Grandma Lizzie. She gasped in surprise, and Steve turned to Bellamy.

"That's you." He realized, pointing to the little girl, a smile growing on his face.

"Yes, it is." Peggy beamed. "And you have gone on and become quite the woman. I've heard of all of your accomplishments. You've made everyone proud." Bellamy smiled faintly.

"I had a lot of people to look up to." Peggy's smile faded a little and she patted her hand, as though she knew the burdens she was carrying.

"And what is it that you're conquering now?" Peggy asked, seemingly fighting to keep a smile. Bellamy eyed Steve beside her, wondering just how much Peggy knew about the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. "If you're anything like me, or Steve, or your family, I'm sure you blame yourself about HYDRA. About not stopping it sooner. Contributing." Bellamy turned back to Peggy before she nodding slightly.

"Yes, to all of the above. And, for feeling like…I lost my place in this world." Peggy's eyes softened before she turned to Steve.

"Would you mind getting us some water?" He nodded politely, leaving the women alone for the moment. Peggy eyed her now looking more open.

"I'm going to assume, Steve brought you here for a reason. And it's because he can see what I can see, my dear. You've lost the ability to believe in your own capabilities." Bellamy took a breath.

"Is it that obvious?" Bellamy asked, chuckling a bit. Peggy smiled, gesturing to one of the empty chairs Steve had pulled up to her bedside before he left.

"Only to certain people. Who have been through it before." Bellamy made herself comfortable in the chair.

"Isn't it more of a personal problem? Steve, I'm sure he thought he was helping me by bringing me to you…but wouldn't you agree it's up to me?"

"It is, yes. And I have no doubt you'll figure it out. But, it took me the longest time to realize...on that journey, on the way through those flames that mold us, there will be those we meet willing to endure the heat with us. And your first instinct will be to push them away, because you think you _must_ go it alone." Bellamy blinked, fiddling with the necklace around her neck. "Because that's what it means to be strong. But it's not." She felt herself frowning for a moment, as she stared at the floor.

"If you're talking about Steve…" Bellamy began sheepishly after she had allowed herself a few moments to let Peggy's words sink in. But she couldn't finish the thought. When she looked up, expecting to find Peggy staring at her with intuitive awareness, she only found confusion.

"…Steve who?" Bellamy blinked, frowning a little and unsure of what to even say. Peggy's eyes flitted to the necklace around Bellamy's neck. "My, that is a beautiful necklace. Sapphires are one of my favorites." Bellamy looked down at her necklace that she was twirling absently before she looked back to Peggy, who was frowning in deeper confusion. "Who are you again?" Slowly, she was piecing two and two together.

"I'm Bellamy." She spoke slowly and tried to maintain a polite smile when Peggy only stared at her with emptiness. "Bellamy Burke, Scott Burke's daughter." Peggy's eyes lit up just as Steve walked in again.

"Oh…Steve! You're here—it's been so long." Steve nodded, wearing a smile, but she didn't miss the pained look in his eyes as he crossed the room to accept her extended hand. He shot her a glance, one hoping that she would understand. The rest of the visit went peaceful and light, but that was only if she ignored the strain of the obvious.

Out in the hallway, Steve paused a bit, taking a breath and a moment, a tense frown tugging on his features. He offered her a tired half-smile, to which she only shook her head.

"The world is too cruel." She decided.

"It really is." He murmured and she sighed, her eyes shutting, before she uncrossed her arms and touched his shoulder.

"I'm honored that you took me here with you today. I know it must not be easy…"

"Far from it. Each time, you know, it seems like she's getting better. Like today, she recognized me as soon as we walked in. She was so lucid. But then…" Steve shrugged, sighing. "It feels like I'm torturing myself sometimes, but. It's easy to talk to her, in the right state of mind. I can tell her anything." Bellamy glanced at him; her grandmother had told her of Peggy's relationship with Steve.

"I'm sorry, Steve." He smiled at her and patted her back.

"You remind me of her. I hope, maybe, talking with her helped you clear some things up. She's helped me in that regard many times." Bellamy nodded, fiddling with her necklace again.

"Yes. Thank you for taking me to see her, Steve, I think I know what I have to do now." He raised an eyebrow but said nothing more as they started the long drive back.

It was then that she told him of her plan. He went with her to her room when they got back and helped her pack a bag with her few belongings.

"I think it's a great idea, Bellamy. Maybe it'll be exactly what you need." It was Steve's enthusiastic agreement that helped her decide her decision was right. She smiled back.

"I'm a little nervous. I know, that sounds odd, but I haven't been back in…years." Steve nodded.

"I think you're making the right choice."

Steve walked her out to the curb, where she turned to him with a smile.

"I don't know when I'll be back." He nodded as though he expected that to be her answer.

"Take as long as you need. The rest of us are preparing for a new mission, Tony thinks we're closing in on finding Loki's scepter and Strucker. He's somewhere holed up at an outpost we can't seem to find. But you're always welcome back here, whenever. Be safe, and call me if you need anything." She nodded, and he opened his arm, giving her a hug and a pat on the back.

"What the hell is this? First I don't get wished well for my birthday, and now you decide to up and leave?" Sam was catching his breath as he jogged outside, Natasha and Bruce following behind him and then Tony behind them, eating pistachios.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Forgive me?" She asked, and he rolled his eyes, but pulled her into a hug, telling her wordlessly just how selfless he was. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"You take care of yourself, girly. Do what you need to do and you'll be back to taking care of business in no time.

"Where are you going?" Bruce asked as he shook her hand, a sad smile on his face.

"Home." She smiled. The rest of the Avengers nodded, not asking for any more explanation. "I think…it's been long overdue."

"I hope this isn't over the bet." Tony said, but behind his jokes, she could see a glint in his eyes, a knowing one.

"Can I have a word?" Natasha asked as she took her hand. Bellamy frowned, but nodded and the other guys walked back inside the tower with a last wave goodbye. Natasha's arms were crossed and she looked at the traffic instead of Bellamy. "Steve told me he took you to see Peggy. Mentioned he hoped it would help you move on, so, I just thought maybe you should know. You're not the only one." Bellamy raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not the only one what?" Natasha smirked.

"Who still thinks about it." She took Bellamy's silence as encouragement to go on. "I know I do. S.H.I.E.L.D. was my saving grace. I desperately wanted to undo my wrongs, and I felt like I was. But…" he shrugged her shoulders delicately. "Then it shattered everything I ever knew. And then again, hearing the fact that Fury's rebuilding it." Bellamy frowned, her gaze snapping quickly to Natasha, who was already watching for her reaction.

"… _You_ left those S.H.I.E.L.D. files at my door?" She asked after a minute. Natasha blinked, resembling a calm cat.

"We were clearing the headquarters out together, if I recall right. I knew you were looking for those files. I knew Fury had them. I don't know if they still mattered…but, like everything else, you had the right to know." Bellamy looked down at their shoes on the pavement.

"Does it really bother you?" Natasha shrugged again.

"Fury is going to do what he thinks is best. And, now, I think I've finally found my place, with the Avengers." Once again, Bellamy felt alone, until Natasha smirked slyly. "Well, for now, anyways. I've been taught from a young age to be flexible. Who would any of us be if we couldn't roll with the punches? So for now, this works. At least for me. So…I hope going back home helps you figure out where is best for you." Bellamy tried to smile, but still found it hard.

"…Hopefully." She concurred, smiling slightly. Natasha nodded as if she understood and turned to leave, and that's when Bellamy spoke up. "Hey—I'm sorry. For the way I used to be. I…always looked down on you. On the agents like you. I always thought of myself as better, but...I'm realizing now I was wrong, and that I'm envious of your ability to just…be. To be flexible, like you said. How do you do it?" Natasha gave her a half-smirk.

"I'm just flexible where I can be. But there are things worth being stubborn over. Things important to you worth setting in stone." Bellamy frowned a little, but accepted the answer with a nod, that she received in return from the woman.

Bellamy cozied herself in the backseat of the cab, preparing herself for the hour-long trip. As she sat, staring out the window watching the concrete turn to greener scenery, she found herself twirling the pendant on her necklace once more—a habit she was quickly getting into. When she realized what she was doing, she patted the back pocket of her pants and pulled out the letter from Bucky, finally able to reread it once more.

The first time around, the neatly folded paper had weighed heavier in her hands, as if confirming he had really left. There had been just enough light shining through the windows that morning to illuminate the handwritten words and give them an enchanting glow that she could still picture.

And when she had lifted the letter closer, she heard a delicate clank of something hitting the wooden floor at her feet. Bellamy had to kneel down closer to the ground to find what had dropped from the letter, and let out a soft gasp as she lifted a delicate silver chain completed with a small blue sphere. It was a necklace, a small charming thing that looked mildly aged.

Bellamy had dangled the gift in the air carefully before she cradled it in her palm, unable to quite believe its presence. She held it with even more caution as she turned her attention back to the letter, hoping for an explanation.

 _To My Dearest_

 _I spent some time in a small village. The people there live by a code, where they offer safe harbor to anyone passing through. I met a kind woman. She's spent her life handmaking jewelry, beautiful things I'd never seen anywhere. There was one that stood out, a necklace with the brightest blue gemstone, like the ocean. It has silver placed around it, resembling the continents. When I asked her about it, she told me it was a sapphire, also known as the September birthstone. She also told me of a story, of how the ancient Persians believed earth rested on a sapphire, and that's why the sky is so blue. That's what the necklace was: earth._

 _Everything clicked in that moment. It was really just a revelation of sorts for everything, and it started with remembering your birthday was in September. And I was proud that I remembered it so easily. And then I had the strongest most determined urge to get that necklace for you, through any means necessary, and it made me wonder why. And I've known it all along, I've probably known it for months, since our rooftop conversations. Long before that almost kiss on the Wonder Wheel that I think about every day. It's because I love you, Bellamy._

 _So I asked the lady what I could do for it. After some time negotiating, she told me her husband was disabled, and they had a lot of broken inconveniences in their house. I worked for them for some time, putting myself to use, just like I did in your apartment, and for John. It felt great to help. She gave me a lot of free meals, a place to sleep, and the necklace after I was done. She asked who it was for, and I told her it was made for you._

 _I told her about you. A woman so in love with the world she would do everything in her power to protect it. To serve it. A woman who forgave me when I didn't deserve it, and forgave the world for damning her. A woman hellbent on seeing the good in people, in everything, so much so that she was destined never to fail and always to be good, pure and good. She smiled and told me she was honored to have a woman like you wear her jewelry._

 _I hope you like it. I hope maybe it can help you as you try to figure out your next step in life, it's supposed to bring clarity and wisdom to the wearer and protect the mind. I know I've been realizing a lot lately. Back home, I used to see newspapers and screens all talking about the Winter Soldier, with my face. I didn't understand. They called me a name I didn't know, it isn't recognizable, just like the rest of me. They call me the Winter Soldier and of that I only know the word soldier, it's all I've ever known. And I realize now I do know winter, all of this life I've only known winter, it's a word to my life, a word to a face. My face. But not anymore. And it's because of you. Thanks to you, I believe in me again._

 _Forever Yours_

She smiled as she held the pendant between her fingers, reminding herself it was real.

Soon enough, a familiar house was approaching as the cab winded down a more lonesome road, with aged towering trees and more open spaces. It had been both of her parent's dream; solitude and peace.

After paying and retrieving her bag, she stood staring at a house she couldn't remember, one hand on her necklace. With trailing steps, she approached the door and knocked once. It was a wonder why she felt so nervous; all of those fears and doubts disappeared at the sight of her mother's face at the door.

Her honey-colored eyes were glistening with quick tears, there was a hand over her quivering mouth, and a kitchen towel in the other hand that fell to the ground.

"Hi, mom." Bellamy murmured, feeling her own eyes watering. She was taken into a tight embrace almost immediately.

"Oh, Bella! What are you doing here?"

"Well…I can't think of a better place or company—" as if on cue, she was cut off by barking, and a very bigger-than-she-remembered black lab jumping up at her hip, eagerly trying to say hello. Bellamy laughed, still hugging her mother and now scratching Ellie behind the ear. "—than right here to spend my birthday."

It was a great relief, a small victory, to know she had interpreted the universe's pushing correctly. That she was where she was supposed to be. For now, anyways. And that was alright.


	27. Possibilities

It was an incessant question.

 _How are you doing? Really dear, how have you been?_

Even after Bellamy had caught her mother up on the events of her life, it was as if she knew she weren't telling the entire truth. She managed to avoid it, but it seemed to add more weight every time she did so. Her mother never pushed, however, to her credit.

It wasn't until they were watching _The Notebook_ together, and Bellamy was fighting ferocious tears, did her mother send her a gently inquiring look.

"You used to hate these movies. You couldn't stand them. I watched them alone, or, with Bronson if he wanted something." Bellamy chuckled a little. "But really, I'm a little shocked. You've become quite the baker, you're singing in the shower. You look different…and now, you're watching romance movies when before you wouldn't touch them with a five-foot pole."

Bellamy shrugged a bit, sipping the fresh brewed tea in a yellow cup. "You can't stay stagnant. At least I learned that before I turned 30." Her mother laughed to herself, readjusting the quilt on her lap that Bellamy used to hate. She thought it didn't match the décor, that when she moved out she would have a much more sophisticated living space. White coffee cups, not mismatched yellow and green ones.

She was exactly like her father, she had always been told. Her mother, she was almost nothing like. Free-spirited, an artist, easy-going, looked at the world through rose-tinted glasses. Spontaneous. But that was something else she was learning before she turned 30 too; maybe she did want to be like her mom.

It wasn't long before Bellamy couldn't fight it anymore, watching Allie read through all the missing letters from Noah. Naturally, of course, much like almost everything in her life, it only reminded her of one person. From the outside looking in, it seemed ridiculous. The concept seemed ridiculous, but only—she realized—if you had never been there.

"And now, tears." Her mother marveled, but moved to sit beside her and drape the quilt over her lap as well. Ellie cozied up next to Bellamy more, as if she could sense her distress, her brown eyes big and watching.

"Imagine that," Bellamy mumbled, unable to stop the quick rushing from her eyes. When she glanced to her mother, her eyes were concerned.

"Bellamy…I feel that you've been keeping something from me." Bellamy chuckled without humor. She looked down at her lap, swallowing the lump in her throat before she silently stood up and went to retrieve the most recent letter. Silently, she passed it to her mother as she rejoined her. She read the first line, and looked up curiously at Bellamy, before she continued reading.

When she finished, she looked up at Bellamy with wide bewildered eyes. "I…I don't understand."

"I fell in love, I suppose." Her mother looked back and forth, between the letter and Bellamy as she tried to piece together everything.

"That day…you called me and asked me what happened to your father and Bronson…you asked me how I forgave him. The…the Winter Soldier." Bellamy was nodding slowly.

She told her everything, from beginning to end, her mother's expressions going on a rollercoaster range of emotions before she merely stared at her silently.

"And so…you really fell for him." It wasn't so much of a question, just a heavy realization. Bellamy stared at her lap.

"I told him I loved him." Her mother looked up silently, her eyes landing on the necklace around her neck. "He told me he loved me too." Her mother's silence made her stomach turn uncomfortably. "And…and I know it doesn't seem r-right…considering everything…"

"Bellamy," her mother soothed, taking her hand and giving her a smile. "It's okay. I'm trying to understand, but it isn't up to me to understand. Love is the strongest force on this earth, now I really do believe that to be true. And we don't get to choose who we love. And on top of that, you're right; it wasn't his fault. If this is the man he really is and is on his way to finding…he sounds like a fine gentleman to me." Bellamy felt her eyes blurring again and snorted a bit.

"Yes. He really is. He never stops amazing me." Her mother pulled her closer to lean back together against the couch, her arm resting over her shoulders and rubbing her arm.

"What about him?"

"He really just wants to be better, better than he thinks he is. And he doesn't see already how good he is, it isn't good enough. Nobody else can understand, the bonding that we experienced. Readjusting, going out of our comfort zone, starting over. Healing. It went passed healing though, and somewhere along the way, it grew. We were growing, separately, you know?"

"And yet, still together." Her mother finished. "But now he's gone. And you really don't know if he'll be back, honey." Bellamy sighed.

"I know. And it's not up to me."

"I guess, what I mean is…is he worth waiting for?" It was her screaming heart that confirmed her thoughts.

"He is. I know he is. That's why I was able to let him go. But the real problem is doing nothing while he's gone, but wait." Her mother nodded.

"You were never the type to sit back and wait. But if you're staying with the Avenger's now, couldn't you—"

"I don't think I could ever be an Avenger, mom. I'm not that spectacular." Her mother scoffed, ready to protest. "It isn't a fit, it doesn't click. I don't know." Familiar arms pulled her closer.

"You will. You will, don't fret."

Bellamy awoke on the morning of her birthday to a cup of tea (after admitting coffee wasn't up her alley anymore) and a small neatly wrapped present from her mother.

It was a small notebook with a deep green leather cover. Her mother smiled at her.

"It's a journal. Of course, you can do whatever you'd like with it, but I just thought maybe journaling would help you keep your thoughts straight. Maybe you can even write out goals, little goals for your soul, not big Bellamy goals." Bellamy chuckled, but smiled thoughtfully at her mother.

"Someone else told me I should start writing." Her mother gave her a knowing look, no words, and a sweet smile. "Thank you, mom. I will."

Bellamy also gave herself time to read Flora's letter she had been waiting to open. As she unfolded a crisp paper, she realized there was still weight inside the envelope and looked inside.

There was a key.

 _To my sweetest Bellamy,_

 _I absolutely believe people are brought into our life for a reason. I remember before we first spoke, I would sit and watch you watch other people. Smile at everyone. Listen to them. You were always such an aloof young woman, but so very kind. If I remember correctly, it took a good long while to really get to know you! And I feel that I still don't know the person you are, but I can make a guess._

 _In you, I can see the woman I wanted to be. Well-organized, a mapped out future, and a purpose that was larger than your own life that you devoted yourself to. I'm sure you are a very high-ranking person of importance at whatever you do, and successful, at that. I always wanted to be that. But, as I come to the end of my life, I'm realizing we don't have to live "one" life. We can be multiple people with different chapters._

 _So if I can offer you anything in the rest of your life, my angel, I would tell you to live multiple lives, and never hesitate when you know what your heart wants. It's always right. And perhaps when you're ready to truly settle down and live, you can do it, here._

There was an address listed, in the state of North Carolina. Bellamy's eyebrows furrowed as she reread the address line a few times, before looking back down to the key in her palm.

 _John and I don't have any use for this home anymore, as he is moving back to be with his family. It was once our dream home, and then our summer home, only then to be rented out. However, I would like nothing more than for you to have it and for it to be a safe-haven. A home._

 _I know we shared a love for humanity and its potential. In life, we are who we love. They are the ones who shape us. Thank you for warming up our world._

 _Forever yours until we meet again,_

 _Flora_

Bellamy stared down at the letter, unable to wrap her head around the fact that her life as of late seemed to be built around so many letters, of those who she cared for the most. Unable to fathom such great people held so much love for her. If she was anything, she realized, she was their love, and it made her more than enough.

With tearful words and the letter in hand, she told her mother of the lovely couple who had become like family to her, and their generous gift. Her mother's eyes shone as though she was not at all surprised that others loved Bellamy as she did.

The letter also reminded her to tell her mother how sorry she was for allowing time to keep them apart, and how much she loved her; she didn't want these words coming too late in the form of a letter, no matter how much those letters meant to her.

"You're going to see it, aren't you?" Bellamy's mother asked. Of course, that would be the logical thing, but her head still couldn't form logical thoughts.

"Eventually." She promised. "But I think, here is where I'm going to say for a bit longer." Her mother smiled, her dimples lighting her face.

Bellamy didn't count the days, she was under no obligation to.

Thanksgiving had a meaning again; her mother cooked for a family of four instead of the two of them. They gave the leftovers to the nearest neighbor who was her mother's close friend, Tamara.

Christmas came with care and the smell of pinecones and a real tree they decorated together while sipping eggnog.

Whenever she sat, bundled up, out on the porch with Ellie, drinking hot chocolate and listening to "Blue Christmas" playing faintly from the open window to the living room, her mother would join her and listen to her daydream of having Bucky around. How helpful he would be with the leaky sink in the guest bathroom, and how much he would love looking at the Christmas tree lights.

They would reminisce about past Christmases as a family, how Bronson and her father always tried to outdo the neighborhood with the Christmas lights outside, the time herself and Bronson were six and knocked over their tree when they were trying to shake the wrapped presents and figure out what they had gotten.

Maybe that was the main reason she hadn't been back. These stories, the names, their existence couldn't be avoided in the company of her mother. Never before after their deaths had she spoken so much about her brother and her father, reminisced so much, felt such a fond unconditional love warm her heart. Tony was right, she laughed when she realized it. These things had to be confronted.

Christmas with her mother was small, cozy, but full of love and much more of an event than it had ever been in recent memory. She received a new beautiful burgundy coat, and a painting her mother had painted herself, "for the new house." Bellamy gave her mother new art supplies and a new cook book, along with a framed photo of the two of them taken with her phone.

New Years passed quickly after that with cheese and wine. It was a week or two after that Bellamy parted ways with her mother. There were a few tears, kisses on the cheek, an exchange of "be careful," a promise to visit more or fly her out to meet the Avengers (she was fond of Steve).

Instead of heading back right away, however, she stopped off in North Carolina. Just outside Raleigh, seemingly in the middle of nowhere in a little town named Holly Springs was where the address took her. With only the company of wise oaks, was a tall and bright yellow house with white trim, well-kept and inviting with a wrap-around porch. Bellamy took the key and walked up the steps to the black double front doors.

Inside was already well-furnished with personal touches and customized features, hardwood floors, four bedrooms, and a grand back porch overlooking more trees. She looked around in amazement, unable to quite believe her circumstances. That this was her home.

She walked out to the back porch and looked around, taking a seat in one of the white rocking chairs. The silence without the honking, busy streets, and questionable smell soothed her soul and she took in a deep greedy breath, looking out at the open space before her before looking to the empty rocking chair beside her.

Her hand twirled the sapphire necklace she wore daily, and imagined Bucky rocking beside her, his hand holding hers, being soothed by the fresh air and sounds of birds.

After sitting for longer than she meant to, her mind somehow both peaceful static and hectic bustle, she locked up and left the house, looking back once before getting in the awaiting cab. Someday, she thought to herself with a small smile, her heart full and hopeful.

Another flight and then Bellamy was finally at the Avenger's tower once more, arriving late. When she entered, Tony was lounging on a chasse in the front room, working intently on some advanced tech device.

"Bellamy Burke has arrived." She heard J.A.R.V.I.S. announce and Tony's head snapped up.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in." He said with a half-grin.

"We have a cat now?" Thor asked as he entered the room, giving Bellamy a casual wave but a bright beam. "Greetings, Bellamy. How was home?"

"Wonderful. I spent some time with my mother." Thor's eyes softened a bit and he nodded.

"Precious moments worthwhile, indeed. It's nice to see you again."

"It's nice to be back. Where is…" She trailed off just as Steve came around the corner, followed by Natasha. Steve smiled, giving her a side hug as Natasha took the other side.

"Sorry we're late to the welcoming party." Nat smirked. "You sure have been missed around here."

"It hasn't been that long." Bellamy scoffed, but smiled warmly at all of them. "But it's been long enough."

That evening, in the early hours between night and morning, Bellamy sat with Steve on the roof as he drew. He gave her a brief rundown of what she had missed, but it wasn't until he stopped talking that she realized he had noticed her writing in her journal and was quietly observing.

"It was a gift." She explained. "I figured I would try my hand at…writing." Steve listened silently, his always encouraging presence allowing her to go on. "I don't really know what I'm doing, but, the possibilities are exhilarating. And kind of terrifying." Steve looked back down to his work in progress, now squinting thoughtfully.

"Sorta sounds like life. Especially the terrifying part." She chuckled a little.

"I like the possibilities part better."


End file.
